


Destined

by rosesisupposes



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Allusion to Character Death, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Blushing, Cool motive still murder, Deceit is Bad But Pretty, Dragons, Fantasy, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Good Omens References, Loceit - Freeform, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Slow Burn, Steven Universe References, Swearing, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, The Black Parade, Thomas Sanders References, Tragic Villain Backstory, Villain Deceit Sanders, Virgil Doesn't Understand Humans, alternating fluff, and want them to have fluff before i bring back the angst, crimes against coffee, i just love my smol bois, implied MCD, logicality - Freeform, okay no there's a lot of fluff, skin burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 64,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesisupposes/pseuds/rosesisupposes
Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.





	1. Introduction, or, What the Hell is a Sage?

Virgil is, he thinks, the last Sage still in a physical form. So many have given up now. The need isn’t the same.

Here’s the thing. Kings of old and their subjects sought out Virgil and his brethren to hear their destiny, what they were meant to do. But Virgil couldn’t see the future, full stop. He saw possibilities. Every woodcutter’s son or precocious prince who sought him out wanted to have a higher purpose or great destiny. Virgil gave them the potential. In a riddle. 

The riddle was the most important part, and the most frustrating. Did he wish that he could give a straight and direct answer that explained exactly what they should do? Of course, yes. But nothing about him was straight, and his power could not be direct. There was no one capital-f Fate that each seeker would have lived out anyway, aware or unaware. There were just… possibilities. The indirectness allowed choice, allowed free will. And only those who sought a destiny and took it to heart were at all bound to it.

Which led Virgil to the modern problem. It was the twenty-first century. Who wanted some young-looking man to tell them their cryptic fate? He certainly couldn’t sit in a distant mountain cave the way he’d used to, waiting for determined quest-goers. And honestly, the solitude had really gotten to him. Just because he could be alone for years straight without needing food or companionship didn’t mean he didn’t want both. 

Reforming had been his real mistake. He’d watched and heard of the other Sages finally dying of their bodies’ old ages or quest seekers angry at their vagueness. They’d all stayed incorporeal, searching the world for determined individuals who could make a difference if only a small voice in the back of their head urged them to act. Virgil sighed and wished he’d followed their example. But he’d panicked and worried about losing a form forever. So here he was, in the shape of a twenty-five-year-old man who had been on this world for over three thousand. How would he ever work this to get anyone to listen to him? Likely impossible. So he was trying something new- living as a regular human. Exploring life without fates and quests and kings and dragons. The latter had all been killed off anyway. Maybe he’d find some joy or entertainment out of this life as a non-Sage. And if not, he’d wait in this body until it withered, and finally rejoin the others. 

Now he just needed to figure out what exactly humans without a destiny did.


	2. Welcome to How You Brewin? aka Meet the Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is slowly figuring out daily life. He's meeting new people and observing humanity up close. He may need a mirror, though.

The best part of coffee shops and cafes was the people-watching. So much could be gleaned from how humans reacted on a daily basis to the process of acquiring caffeine. There were the “please-don’t-ask-me-to-think-this-early” types, the “you-are-my-lifesaver” types, and the “i-swear-i-not-this-grumpy-all-the-time” types. Some people went for a simple drip coffee, some wanted espresso. Did you order the same thing everyday, or mix it up? Did you want to taste the coffee, or did you want the bitter taste blunted as much as possible? All these little categories painted a picture in miniature of how a person acted in the rest of their life.

Actually, that was the second-best thing about coffee shops. The best thing was that they didn’t require experience in a regular job to hire you. The owner of _How You Brewin'_ hadn’t even asked Virgil for a resume, which was a relief. How would he list his experience? “Over three-thousand years telling people what to be afraid of” wasn’t exactly a transferable skill.

He’d walked in to HYB just over a week ago, just planning to get a drink and hang around. As he’d waited for his name to be called, he’d been fiddling with the carafes of creamer and sugar, straightening the area absentmindedly and bringing an empty carafe to the counter to be refilled. That’s when the owner noticed him.

Not that he knew he was the owner, at first. Dressed all in black and leather, the tall man had been covering both register and espresso machine, rushing back and forth from customer to customer. His nametag told Virgil that his name was Remy. His constant flirting despite his clear exhaustion told Virgil a lot more about his personality.

At a break between customers, Remy had come over to where Virgil sat at the back of the cafe. “Hey there. Come here often? Nah girl I know you don’t yet, but you will.”

Virgil wasn’t sure how to respond. “Um… I might? I’m… new around here. It’s a nice place, I guess?”

The other man shot him a crooked grin. “I know you’re new, I know everyone in this tiny town. Thanks for the help cleaning earlier - these morning rushes will be the death of me.”

“Oh it was nothing. You looked so busy, it was the least I could do.”

“I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here - you’re new in town, you’re sitting in a coffee shop at 10 am, and you were cleaning up just because. Do you need a job?”

Virgil blinked. “Um, yes, actually.” Many things about humanity were still mysterious to him, but this much he knew.

“Great - you’re hired. Come meet Gilda, you can start right away.”

“Wait, really? I mean, what? Who’s Gilda, I thought you were the only one here…”

 

That had been a week and two days ago. Now, Virgil and Gilda were well-acquainted, especially after Virgil managed to spray hot milk over himself twice. She had such unique quirks of operation, it had almost become normal to be referring to an espresso machine as if it was sentient. Virgil, to his own surprise, had picked up being a barista relatively easily, hot milk showers aside. He was at a point where he could observe the customers as he worked, and Remy had declared him ready to fly solo.

Virgil wasn’t sure how well-placed his boss’s confidence was, but he’d learned that Remy roasted his own coffee beans and was up at 3am every morning to do so. He’d stay through the morning rush and then immediately vanish to his apartment above the cafe to sleep through most of the day.

Virgil had adjusted to the new routine, and had begun to recognize some of the regulars. There was the mom who brought her daughter in each morning (“Medium chai and kids hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, for Heather”), the overly bubbly man who show up each day in a new color of cardigan (either “sweet tea” or “small latte”, for Emile), and the serious-looking man who was always wearing a tie (“Medium dark roast, black, no room, for Logan”).

He was intrigued by the last of these. Logan (assuming that was in fact his name) was one of the small group of people who frequently spent the day working there. But unlike most of the workers, he always stayed in the coffee shop’s side.

 _How You Brewin’_ was one half of a strange duplex building. At some point in its history, the dividing wall between the ground-floor retail spaces had been knocked down and replaced with a huge garage-style door. When open, it created one huge space of two shops. The other half was a bakery called _Crumb On In!_ , beloved in town for its fresh bread and pastries. Virgil had met the bakery’s owner several times. He was a jovial man with honey-gold hair, a hint of pudge around his waist, glasses, and a strong affinity for puns. His name was Patton. Besides his delicious baking, he was best known for his unending friendliness. Between him and Remy, Virgil was convinced they knew the life stories of every person in town, whether or not they’d ever actually come into the dual store that Patton called the “bakafé.” 

Remy’s side offered all things coffee- and tea-related in a room painted in warm cinnamon and walnut browns, with matching square furniture. Patton’s side offered an explosion of pastels, with intentionally mismatched but incredibly comfortable furniture in a range of sunny colors, all soaked in the smells of fresh bread and cookie dough. The bakery also offered Patton himself. The diminutive man had an uncanny ability to immediately tell when a customer was in a “I need a break, please distract me” mode versus “I’m pausing but about to continue” mode. Those who came to the bakafé for the wifi and the atmosphere chose to sit on Patton’s side 99 times out of 100, even as they made frequent visits past the wall for more coffee.

The 1 time of 100 was Logan. On a slow afternoon, after Remy had left, Virgil finally asked why he worked here at the coffee shop.

“I’ve been working in communal labs for long enough that a lack of background noise now makes it harder for me to focus,” he responded matter-of-factly. “ The quiet chatter here fulfills that need adequately.”

“Office is bit quiet at the moment?”

“Yes, the senior researcher is quite renowned for his work on the human genome project, and has been invited to teach an entire genetics course in Seoul. We’re used to him being out of office, but six months straight has been a change. My colleagues do a lot more field research than I, and spend weeks in other labs in other cities. Rather than be alone in the office, where I would be less productive, I work here instead.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s smart. But why stay here, on the dark side? Don’t you want to be closer to the other work-from-homers and Patton?”

“I, uh. I - I find it easier to - um - focus, on this side,” the bespectacled man stammered, fiddling with his muffin.

 _I may not be an expert on humanity, but even I can tell there’s more to the story here,_ Virgil thought. Instead of prying immediately, he went a different route. “What kind of muffin is that? I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before.”

Logan recovered and sat up straighter. “Oh, it is absolutely delicious, and quite ingenious too. Instead of berries, it’s baked with jam right in the middle of the muffin. This one’s pomegranate and blackberry jam - it is by far the best of the many options. This bakery is the only one I’ve ever seen with anything like it, and the jam never makes them soggy.”

“That must be difficult to get right,” Virgil observed innocently. “I believe Patton makes all the muffins himself - you should tell him how you appreciate them, he’d be delighted.” 

Virgil grinned internally as Logan’s eye widened again. “I - um, that is… I’m sure he is aware. I- excuse me, I really must get back to work.”

Virgil walked back to the counter, but despite the blue glow of Logan’s laptop, he could still see the faintest of blushes on the man’s cheeks. _Interesting,_ Virgil thought. _He’s so technical, but still so easily embarrassed? I wonder if that’s normal._

Logan wasn’t the only regular who caught Virgil’s attention, but he was the only one he’d successfully exchanged more than customer service pleasantries with. Key word here being successfully.

Almost every morning, amid the steady crowds, there was _Him _. Rasputin’s beard, Virgil was embarrassing even in his own mind. Maybe it was all the years of sitting in caves, but he was sure he’d never seen anyone as handsome as the tall, auburn-haired man who ordered under the name “Roman.” Maybe he was so eye-catching because of that jacket he was always wearing. It was letterman style, red and white, with a golden script on the back spelling out “Camelot Theatre Company.” Virgil had even noticed tiny rhinestones on the C’s crown - not that he’d been staring at the stranger's back. Or lower than his back. Nope, not at all.__

Maybe it was the theatre connection, but he had such a distinct manner of walking and speaking. It reminded Virgil so much of past centuries speaking with royalty that he’d had to stop himself from responding “my lord.” Remy seemed to think so too - Virgil had seen him scribble a crown on the man’s cup instead of his name before.

The first time Roman had walked in, Virgil had been at the register, a bit past peak rush. The man had strolled in and straight to the counter before noticing someone besides Remy was behind the counter. “Well helllooo dolly! Look at this new face!” 

In his defense, Virgil had already been a bit flustered by how busy it had been. In his prosecution, he’d said “Heh, yes, I just star-” and then made eye contact with Roman, whereupon he promptly forgot how to continue forming words. He was sure there was a very good explanation for his sudden lack of coherency, if only he could figure out what it was.

Roman had blinked and waited a second for Virgil to finish his thought, still smiling. Virgil had snapped himself out of it, thankfully, but his cheeks were an identical color to Roman’s jacket. “Um. I - I just started Tuesday, um, Remy needed someone to help out.” He cleared his throat and managed to ask, “What can I get started for you?”

“I will take the sweetest thing on your menu,” Roman said with a wink, “or a large peppermint and vanilla mocha with curls if you’re not available.”  
Virgil had worried that his face might never recover from being this red. Luckily, Remy had saved him then, calling over to the auburn-haired man to ask him what milk he wanted. Virgil was able to run the transaction as normal and recover.

His cheeks had been so hot, and his throat kept catching on his words. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He was experiencing yet another aspect of human life - he was clearly getting sick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First non-intro chapter! The next will be diving into some historyyyy
> 
> (please let me know if you like it!)


	3. Flashback: Greece, circa 1400 BCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil's met a lot of people in his thousands of years on earth. Some bear strange resemblances to those he's meeting now, as a human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to some world-building, in flashback form.

Virgil came into being to serve the Oracle at Delphi. Before it was a temple for Apollo, it was a meeting place of Sages, and a training ground. Virgil was Daphne then – a young maiden serving as one of the priestesses’ guild. She cared for the temple, and learned from the Pythia – head priestess, and public Oracle. Days were filled with gathering herbs for incense, guiding supplicants through the rites of the temple, and listening to prophecy be revealed as much as possible.

The rules hadn’t been so strict then. Supplicants were allowed a single question, and the answer tended to be vague, but choice was only really maintained through equivocation. King Croesus was told that he would destroy a great empire. He did, in fact, destroy a great empire – his own. No supplicant could ask a follow-up question, and few thought to craft their questions carefully enough to be truly helpful. Except for, of course, the farmers. Daphne admired the simplicity. Without fail, each day, farmers would ask about upcoming weather, and the likelihood of a good harvest. Their lives had a routine, and the only outer force that could disrupt it was the whims of the weather gods and water sprites. With the assurance of Delphi at their back, they went back to their lands and their families prospered.

After decades of temple life, Daphne was finally rising in the hierarchy of priestesses. Soon, she might be chosen as one of the three rotating priestesses who interpreted the whispers of the Pythia – she would finally be a true Sage. As much as she wanted that power, the responsibility unnerved her. Would she be tied to this place for eternity? Restless, she snuck out of the temple often, mingling with the traffic of supplicants up and down Mount Parnassus and the valley of Phocis. Watching daily life brought her calm, and seeing lives not constantly bound up in far-off futures made her feel more stable.

One night, she heard the sound of raucous merriment and eagerly traced it back to its source. In the middle of copse were worshipers of Dionysus – satyrs, maenads, and Silenus. Humans too – it was a celebration of joy, without inhibition, celebrating the beginning of the harvest. Grapes were everywhere – growing from trees, from the ground, and from the arms of the dancers. Huge wine vats presided over the merriment, with wine pouring out of the spigots. Daphne smiled broadly and leapt into the dance. She spun from arm to arm, greeting laughter with laughter. As she wove through the crowd, dance partners threw grapes to one another, catching them in their mouths without a care for spilled juice or stains.

Spinning out of the dance to catch her breath, Daphne came to stand beside a wine vat, watching the sparkling red liquid pour into barrels, casks, glasses, and open mouths.  
The attendant at the spigot looked up at her. “Hello, fair one,” he said with a closed-mouth smile. “Can I get you something to wet your throat?”

“Oh yes please, I’ll take a glass. Or a cask!” She was already giddy on the music and adrenaline from dancing. Wine could hardly do worse.

“A maiden after my own heart!” he said cheerily, dipping a bottle into the stream. The bright pink froth spilled over the neck as he passed it over to her, dripping onto his white hand. He lifted it to his lips and licked up the red drops, and kissed his fingers. “The nectar of the gods can be no better!”

Daphne took a swig. The wine was just sweet enough to be delightful without sticking to her tongue, and the alcohol mild enough to not overpower the flavor. She leaned against the vat, taking in the sounds and smells around her. “It’s all so alive,” she murmured. The attendant snorted. “Something for you?” she asked. She knew she was sheltered, living for so long on temple grounds, but she couldn’t imagine what she’d said wrong this time. The attendant looked sheepish.

“I don’t mean to mock, sweet. I laugh because the same thing drew me here, once.” He set aside another full barrel and moved an empty one up to the spigot. Then he turned and smiled. “I’m Pasithee, by the way. Follower of Dionysus and winemaker extraordinaire.”

“Lovely to meet you, Pasithee. I’m Daphne. I live nearby.” She took a hearty swig from her wine. “It really is delicious. Extraordinaire is right!” She looked out at the crowd of revelers. “Does winemaking mean you don’t get to dance?”

“Oh, I get to dance. I’ve just been waiting for a partner to make it worth my effort,” the pale man smirked. He waved, and a satyr leapt over to tend the wine. He offered his hand with a bow. “My dear Daphne. Shall we?”

Charmed in spite of herself, Daphne set down her bottle and pulled him back into the whirlwind of movement. Drums beat in her chest and pipes flowed through her hair as she reeled through the mass of bodies, making eye contact with Pasithee whenever they spun back to meet in the middle. After three songs, she spun herself out to the edge of the circle, breathless. A beat later, Pasithee was there are her elbow.

They fell against a tree near another wine vat, laughing still as they caught their breath. Gazing over at her dance partner, Daphne froze. He’d thrown his head back to inhale deeply. In his open mouth, torchlight glinted off teeth white as a wolf’s – and just as pointed. She sat up straight, pushing away slightly.

“You… you’re – an oneiroi,” she gasped, naming the demons of the night and nightmares. Immediately Pasithee closed his mouth, looking frightened.

“No, I swear – I’m just…” he closed his eyes. “Hades’ asscheek, I was about to say ‘I’m just a vampire.’ Sweet Daphne – I’m sorry, please don’t run away. I swear, I will not harm you, or anyone else. I swear by Dionysus.”

Daphne stared. “A vampire – in Greece? I’d heard of such a thing but not here.”

Pasithee, taking her lack of immediate flight as a good sign, nodded. “I was a traveler on the seas. Apparently, I went too far north. A European vamp caught me while I slept on the mainland. Crossing running water made getting back a struggle. But Greece is my home.”

“What’s so good about home,” she muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said “But vampires and… blood. Do you starve? Or do you…”

“I was planning to starve, or die, whichever came first. Oh, the urge was strong. But I couldn’t bear to lose my last shred of humanity. I was about to lose control, and had resolved to fall upon a stake at sunrise. I stole a bottle or five from a vineyard, to toast my life and imminent death. After the second bottle, I realized the urge had lessened. By the fourth, I was drunk, but had not a scrap of hunger. I sacrificed the last bottle to Dionysus and pledged myself to him service. I may not be human, but I have not become a monster.” A wine bottle stood upright beside him. He reached over and took a hearty swig.

“Pasithee… I’m sorry I was so quick to judge, and to fear. You’re so brave,” Daphne said quietly. “You could have resigned yourself to your new life, to your new fate. You had all the excuse in the world to do so. And yet, you resisted.”

The vampire grinned carefully, hiding his fangs. “You give me too much credit. I just wanted an excuse to stay up all night and drink wine at all times.” He took another swig, and offered the bottle to Daphne. “But… thank you, all the same.”

She smiled back. “I should probably head home. If I’m not in the cloisters at dawn, I’ll be cleaning incense burners for years.”

Pasithee looked up quizzically. “Cloisters? Incense…?” Realization dawned. “A prophetai – you’re from Delphi! Please, before you go – I can never visit the temple, not until you allow nighttime supplicants. Can I ask you?”

Daphne hesitated. It was forbidden to give predictions outside the pomp and circumstance of the Oracle. But then, it was forbidden to drink alcohol, forbidden to consort with men outside of formal duties, and forbidden to leave the temple without express permission. She nodded. He took a deep breath.

“Priestess, within my destiny, answer my entreaty.”  
“Seeker, I know your destiny, and know you to be bound by it. You may ask but one question. Are you prepared?”  
“I am.”  
“Then give me your hands, and entreat as you will”

They clasped forearms, and Pasithee’s eyes met Daphne’s. They were bright with restrained tears. “Will I die without having killed an innocent life?”

Daphne listened to the whispers of past priestesses echo in her mind as she gazed through the futures lying before her companion.

She let her voice fall into the ritual accent and intoned, _“The only innocence lost at your hand will be your own.”_

Pasithee drooped with relief as he released her arms. She drooped too, from exhaustion. She had not built up the magical reserves needed to easily dispense answers from the ether.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, Pasithee. But… I wish you well. Thank you for the wine, and for the lesson.”

Pasithee smiled. “You have relieved me of a burden I have carried since the day I was bitten. Thank you, sweet Daphne. Gods all bless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> Pasithea was one of the Three Graces. She was the personification of relaxation, meditation, hallucinations and all other altered states of consciousness.
> 
> Ref. “secrets of the Delphic Oracle” from the University of Sydney
> 
> Inspired in part by Maladict/Maladicta, the coffee-addict member of the League of Temperance from Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett.


	4. Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy is such a goddamn flirt. Luckily, or not so luckily if you ask Virgil, so is Roman

Remy was working at the register one day when Roman came in.

“Hey there hun, what can I get you? Let me guess - tall, dark, and handsome?”

Roman returned his wink. “If that’s what I wanted, I’d take a barista, not a drink. Maybe another day. Could I get a half-caff soy latte?”

Virgil saw the flirty exchange and felt a twinge of...something. It felt bad, but not because he didn’t think the compliments were correct. He just wanted to be the one giving them. Or at least, the one on the receiving end of that charming smile.

Oh. Wait. He _did_ recognize this feeling. This was jealousy.

* * *

 

Once Roman left for the bakery, the line was empty, and Virgil sidled over to Remy. “Do you know him? Mr... Princey, there?”

Remy laughed with a shrug. “Only as a regular, really. Maybe I’ve seen him onstage once or twice, or on the dance floor more than that. Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“Um. I hadn’t noticed,” Virgil replied, swallowing hard. He turned away, muttering under his breath, “At least not that much.”

Remy heard and grinned. “You could try talking to him, you know. I’m sure he doesn’t bite. Not unless you want him to, at least.”

Virgil felt his face immediately flushing. “I wouldn’t know what to say. Starting conversations isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Look, hun, you clearly have a crush. A beautiful, princely crush, even if his taste in coffee is atrocious. Just flirt with him! He clearly loves a good compliment. Hell, if I were single, I’d have seduced him in the back room by now. Lucky for you I’m already committed to my boyfriend, Gilda, and the night, so gay up and get his number.”

“You really think he’d go for it?” Virgil asked, shifting awkwardly.

Remy smirked. “I mean, you’re not MY type. But he did make that crack about baristas earlier. If you’re that nervous, give him your number. Come onnn gurl, don’t just pine. Just give him the choice, and hope for the best.”

Virgil smiled back. “Thanks, boss. That sounds like the kind of plan I’m good at.”

* * *

That night, he thought of possibilities. Not with magic - he wasn’t actually sure what looking at his own future would do. Instead, he just contemplated outcomes, trying to evaluate coolly, without worrying. What were the likely outcomes of giving a handsome prince - Roman, his name is Roman, he’s not royalty - his number? Could Virgil handle the outcomes?

 _He’ll take it but not text me_ \- I’ll see him the cafe again, and won’t press the issue, and be as polite as normal. It’s just a crush. I can wait.

 _He sees the number and declines_ \- apologize, re-make drink if necessary. Proceed as above

 _He sees the number and texts me_ \- My heart will beat so fast I will die, and when I emerge in the ether the others will NEVER let me hear the end of it.  
No, no, I’ll be ok. It’s just talking. I can do that. That’s the best case scenario. Fingers crossed.

There were other possibilities he could think of, but Virgil was fairly adept at discarding particularly unlikely scenarios. Most of the time, anyway. He took a deep breath.

This was humanity, right? Taking risks and rolling the dice. Doing the things that might lead to a bit of happiness. ‘Give him a choice and hope for the best’ - hell, that could be the Sages’ motto, too.

With one last slow exhale, he settled back in the couch and turned on Netflix. If he was going to embrace his human experiment, he really should catch up on the most current shows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a short chapter, because I wanted to get some fluff in before the ~~angst~~ more substantial chapter coming up.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented or left kudos! It makes my day :]


	5. Flashback, 300 CE,Naverre in southwestern Europe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to the life of a young prince who desperately wants to have a purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character death

**The Kingdom of Naverre, in southwest Europe, 300 CE**

Prince Colan of Naverre was frustrated. It was not a pleasant feeling, but it had become all too familiar recently. Nothing was working as he wanted it to.

It had started with his eldest brother’s wedding plans. Alric and his fiancée, Maria, were due to be wed in just two month’s time. Inspiration had struck when it was first announced - this was Colan’s chance to prove how well he could organize such a grand event. The heir to the throne and a daughter of the oldest noble house of a neighboring country? It would take careful knowledge of deportment and politics, of logistics and timing. Colan was sure he could do it, and do it well.

But Alric and their mother, Queen Lelina, had brushed him off. “There’s no need, my sweet son,” she’d told him kindly, brushing his hair with a soft hand. “The steward and master of ceremonies have the matter well in hand. You need only be your handsome self and support your brother.”

Colan couldn’t help but pout ever so slightly. “Can I at least bear the rings?”

The Queen had laughed. “Oh Colan, you know the role of ringbearer is too important to waste. We must save it for a noble we wish to mollify, or an ally we wish to flatter. Don’t trouble yourself, dear. Why don’t you take Duchess Maria for a ride through the royal forest?”

Colan had sighed, and gone off to be a good host to his future sister-in-law. That, at least, everyone could agree he excelled in.

He knew he shouldn’t feel so rejected, it was just that… how was he ever going to be taken seriously if he was never allowed to do anything serious on his own? He loved his brothers dearly and only wanted them to succeed, but they both succeeded so much that there was no role left for him except to smile and wave.

Alric, the named heir, was already a beloved highness throughout Naverre. He had a working relationship with the nobles’ council already, sitting in with and without King Henri overseeing. The nobles gave and received counsel with mutual respect. And the people loved him too. Alric took biweekly rides through the capital city to mingle with his future subjects. Wizened grandmothers sighed happily that he looked a true king as he dismounted to listen to a shopkeeper’s opinion on proposed taxes. Colan had experienced it first-hand, too. There was no one better than Alric to vent to. His eyes would be earnest, his reactions kind. He made you feel _heard._

If only Colan could talk to him about his current problem.

His second-eldest brother was Prince Bryant. Bryant didn’t have the same ease with people as his brothers did, nor was he skilled in the intricacies of policy like Alric. But he was a skilled knight and general, already making a name for himself outside their borders. His training master had once said that Bryant had the unique talent to see a battle from the eagle’s eyes as easily as the mouse’s, and simultaneously too. He could be locked in combat with an enemy knight or renegade ogre while maneuvering to defend the soldiers around him and filling in gaps in the army’s line - all without hesitating a moment or losing a second’s advantage. On his eighteenth birthday, he had been named an officer in the nation’s army. Three years later, he was second-in-command. It was widely rumored that when Alric ascended to the throne, Bryant would ascend to Commander General, and Colan had confirmed the rumors through industrious eavesdropping. In the meantime, the King and Queen had begun negotiations with neighboring kingdoms and duchies for Bryant’s betrothal.

And that left Colan. Left behind, leftover Colan. The public loved him, true, but he was continuously greeted as “the young prince” or “our dear little Colan.” He wasn’t loved the way a future monarch like Alric was, but like a child. He was a decent warrior, but his spatial awareness was lacking. He was an excellent host to foreign dignitaries and local nobles, and he kept dinner conversations lively. But that role was the purview of queens and hostesses, and besides, both his mother and sister-in-law were just as talented as he. In fact, the only sphere where he felt unparalleled in his peerless family was during the evening entertainment, those rare times he was permitted to sing, or play the lute or piano. But a prince couldn’t very well become a wandering bard.

There were days where he wished he could leave Naverre. Not because he did not love his homeland, but because he knew that surely, some other kingdom had a vacant role that would fit his talents perfectly. But the children of kings only left the land of their fathers by marrying into foreign lines, and even then, few nobles would risk losing their child to distant lands for anything less than a prince. Colan gazed out his tower window. _I wish I could marry another prince,_ he thought, before catching himself. That kind of thinking was… discouraged, at least in noble houses. Marriages between two men or two women could produce no children and thus no heirs. Bloodlines must be preserved. “You must take care that your lady is not neglected,” his tutor in royal lineages had explained. “She will be your partner, and mother to your children. Any dalliances must not supersede what you owe to them and to her.”

Sitting up from his window seat, Colan groaned. He had to stop having the same ruminations over and over. Sitting here pondering his inadequacies was no way to fix them. There must be some way he could be useful to Naverre, and to its future. Surely he wasn’t destined for a life of fluff and unneeded support to his brothers.

_Destined._

_Destiny._

That was it!

His history tutor had mentioned the Sage his great-grandfather had consulted, the one whose words pointed old King Jonathan to the land that became Naverre. If Colan could seek out that Sage, he would be able to seek his Fate. He could bring glory to Naverre, to his line, and to his name!

Inspired, he began to plan all he would need. The journey would be long and likely dangerous, journeying north and east to the White Mountain. He couldn’t disrupt or derail the wedding, so he must wait to leave until after. And his family mustn’t seek to bring him back, so he would need an official reason. What could he… ah, he knew. Maguelone. The province traded frequently with his sister-to-be’s home country, but personality clashes continued to cause bumps in the road. He would offer to bring news of the wedding to the rulers of Maguelone, aiding both Naverre and Aquitana. And then he would continue north and east until he reached the snowy slopes of White Mountain and the Sage’s refuge.

* * *

Pallas awoke from a deep meditation to the sounds of hallooing from outside his hut. He’d completely lost track of time, so it must have been at least a decade since the last Seeker found him. He stood easily, not a trace of stiffness in his joints despite his appearance as grey-bearded man of at least seventy. He opened the door to see a young man, energetic despite the cold winds and snow. Frost had coated parts of the boy’s auburn hair, but his eyes blazed with excitement.

“Greetings, revered Sage! I have journeyed far to reach you!”

“Welcome, Seeker. Enter, rest, and warm yourself.”

The young man’s look of determination faltered. “Revered Sage, I must know my destiny! I cannot delay!”

The Sage smiled kindly. “And so you shall, brave Seeker. But you have already done battle with the winds of this mountain, and must refresh your spirit. Once you have prepared, your destiny will be revealed.”

The boy hesitated, but stepped inside the hut, shedding his heavy cloak, traveling pack, sword, and shield. He revealed garments clearly not meant for mountaineering. A tight-fitting jacket that had once been white was decorated in faded gold cords and a no-longer-brilliant red sash. Pallas frowned internally, and guided his guest to the fire.

“Young Seeker, while you rest, please, tell me why you seek your destiny.”

“My name is Prince Colan, of Naverre, and I am the youngest son of my father King Henri,” he started, staring into the flames. “My brothers will serve our homeland honorably and well. But I know that I can, too, if only I knew how. Once I know my destiny I will fulfill it for the glory of Naverre.”

Pallas frowned outwardly, staring at the prince’s determined profile. To be so adamant in what his future must hold meant likely disappointment.

“Seeker Colan, you must know that destiny is not biddable, nor can it be defied. Your destiny may not be what you desire it to be - but once you have been told, it cannot be changed,” he cautioned. “I tell you this not because I believe you are ignorant, but because I do not wish to remove the possibilities you dream of for yourself.”

Colan looked up, defiant. “I know I will be bound. And I know you cannot guarantee that I will found my own kingdom or find a cure for blight. But I know that there is a role for me in the world, where I will thrive the same way my brothers thrive. I just need to know what directions there are. I need to know I will have a purpose.”

Pallas gazed into the Prince’s eyes. He could see that the boy would not be deterred, and it would be foolish to try. “Very well. Are you recovered?”

“I am.”

“Then we may begin as you wish.”

Colan took a deep breath and stood, moving to kneel in front of Pallas’ carved wooden chair.

“Sage, I entreat you, _tell me my destiny,_ ” the prince said. Pallas knew he’d been rehearsing this line over and over in his head, wanting his moment of revelation to be perfect.

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

“I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.” Though his form was old, the age did not show on the Pallas’ hands, imbued as they were with the ancient magic of Sages.

He clasped Colan’s offered hands, and closed his eyes.

Pallas had never seen such a thing. Colan had just **one** possible future. He would marry a princess from the north. He would help the future Queen Maria entertain the Court. He would serve in ceremonial posts, knighting citizens and presiding over new buildings. He would have no children of his own, but be a doting uncle to his nieces and nephews. No choices or factors that Pallas saw would change this. There was no adventure, no glorious purpose, nor even a glimmer of one. It would be a plain and unexciting existence for the rest of his days.

Without letting his expression change, Pallas shifted his magical focus towards one question: would Colan be happy?

He would consider himself contented. He would feel neither excitement nor passion. He would never be entirely bored, but also never stimulated. But he would be happy _enough_.

Pallas recoiled at the idea of giving a single fortune, with no meaningful variation. Hadn’t he seen how badly that went at Delphi? If just one outcome was decreed, there was only one way to avoid it - to die before living out its entirety. Evasion in life was impossible. Just look at poor Oedipus.

Desperate to not condemn such a passionate boy to such a disappointing future, Pallas shifted the focus of his power to look backwards. Such a thing was unorthodox, and frowned upon, to be sure, but if he could just find a past pivotal moment, perhaps there will be a way to alter the future, even if he can’t see the future effects. This was what Pallas told himself, anyway.

His vision became filled with vignettes of Colan’s life, moments that remain foremost in the prince’s memory, whether conscious or unconsciously. Unlike searching through potential futures, looking through the past was constrained to the first-person view of the Seeker. Pallas lived the prince’s struggles, felt the weight of expectation and the shadow of his brothers.

 

 

> _Colan is three, chasing after Alric at 8 and Bryant at 6 as they race to the duckpond. He almost reaches their heels when an unseen root catches his foot. His knees smart as he struggles to regain his footing and continue. Silk and linen rustles as Mother appears from behind to pull him into her arms. “Oh my poor sweet Colan, are you alright? Don’t worry, you don’t need to catch up with them.”_
> 
> _Colan is nine and at long last has reported to the training master to learn to be a knight. The training master is a huge man from the far North, six feet tall, every inch chiseled with hard-earned muscle. A broadsword that he wields with ease hangs at his belt. Colan is bursting with excitement, ready to show how well and quickly he will learn. The master looks down at him. “Ach, what wee lad you are. Are you ready to train?” “Yessir, I am! I want to be a great warrior!” The giant laughs. “Weel, we’ve already got Bryant as our warrior. We’ll do the best we can with ye though, dontcha worrit yerself none.”_
> 
> _Colan is thirteen and Duke Rogero, his mother’s distant cousin from the South, is visiting Naverre. Rogero has dark hair and cobalt eyes, and tawny golden skin that contrasts beautifully with the bright white of his entrancing smile. When Rogero makes his first bow to the family, he catches Colan’s eye as he straightens, and winks. Colan feels his heart stutter in his chest. The healer had explained to him that at his age, he might begin feeling odd urges, and his body may react without his knowledge. But these reactions were supposed to be around young women, not beautiful dukes. Throughout his state visit, Colan seeks out Rogero, asking about his life and his journeys. He asks if he is married. “Not yet,” the Duke replies. Colan asks how old would someone have to be to marry him. “I’ve no real preference, as long as she’s close enough to my age to not be bored by me. Why, do you know any noble ladies here I might like?” A guard present guffaws. “You ask me, sounds like our little princey wants you to marry him!” Rogero throws back his head and laughs with him. The echos chase him as Colan flees, tears of confusion and hurt leaking out of his eyes._

Pallas’ eyes stung with Colan’s constant need to be better, to be enough, to be _more_.

How could he tell this prince that his one overriding need would never be fulfilled? Was that his role here, as Sage? To destroy Colan’s hope of purpose, to crush his spirit so that he would be able to be “content?”

In that moment, Pallas rebelled. He steadied himself, making sure no tears would be visible. He opened his eyes, and pretended to be channeling the ancient magic.

_“A split path within a tangled wood will lead you to your true purpose.”_

There was technically such a path on the way back home, where the road split five ways at the border to enter Naverre and continued all the way to the King’s castle. But there was no true choice, no purpose waiting for the young man along any other path but the road home. It was an exaggeration, of sorts. Nothing more.

No - he’d lied. Pallas knew he’d lied. But the look of relief and determination on Colan’s face justified the act. _If it preserves his hope, surely it’s a white lie,_ he thought. Destinies weren’t certain, the prince knew that, right? There was still a chance that the future he’d seen would come to pass. And… maybe it would work out. Maybe the sheer act of believing in another outcome would force one into being.

Colan stood quickly, a new fire burning in his eyes. Not one of desperation, nor of fear of failure. But one of determination.

“Sage Pallas, I thank you for the gift of my destiny. I will commend you to my father, and throughout my travels, the way my forefather King Jonathan did. I hope you will hear of my exploits.”

He clipped his sword to his belt, donned his cloak, and hung his shield from his pack. He bowed deeply to the Sage, and exited the hut.

* * *

Pallas left the mountain often after Colan’s departure, seeking news. Nothing surfaced for month, then months, then a year.

Two years later, he finally heard news from Naverre. The country was in mourning.

One month after his descent from White Mountain, Prince Colan had successfully picked up the trail of a band of renegade orges. He’d correctly determined that they were heading towards his homeland. Instead of taking the road to Naverre to warn the army, he’d rode after the band himself, sure that this was the purpose that had been foretold.The prince had thrown himself into a battle against ogres, outnumbered nearly twenty to one. If he’d succeeded in taking any down with him, no one could say how many. What was known was that the remaining band joined with many others to attack village after Naverran village, and Prince Bryant had led the army to defeat them. It took them months to round up the last of the monsters.

It would be at least a year after his death that Colan’s body was recovered by Naverran scouts, mauled almost beyond recognition by ogres. Only fragments of his clothes and the royal crest on his sword hilt led his body to be returned to his heartbroken parents.

Colan had died in obscurity, alone, with no effect on the ogres’ subsequent attack. His family and country mourned, but recovered and prospered under the rule of King Alric and Commander General Bryant. Prince Colan of Naverre became a footnote in the nation’s history, a neglected branch of the family tree, frozen at eighteen.

It was Pallas’ - now Virgil’s - greatest shame. And it was all because he’d lied. He refused to ever do so again, no matter the emotional toil on the Seeker. It just made him feel… slimy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes: name meanings  
> Alric - from German: “Rules All”  
> Bryant - from Celtic: “Strong”  
> Colan - from English: “ Triumphant, Young”
> 
> I swear, I love Virgil, I really do. I just want to cause him pain.


	6. How Bout Dem Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil gays up

The next morning, Virgil unlocked the cafe door and greeted Remy with a small wave. Remy acknowledged the gesture without breaking his normal stream of affection and gossip to the slowly-warming espresso machine.

“And Andy was trying to say that Mr. Brightside is passé, can you imagine? It’s a banger, will never not be, and everyone else loved it. Gilda, you would have taken my side, I know you would have. Antony would have but he was too busy dancing. Ugghhhh I need coffee. Gilda, hun, please hurry up, I know you’re sleepy but Remy needs you...”

Virgil passed him into the back room, tuning out the daily chatter into a comforting background noise. He pulled on his apron and started opening the café.

The morning rush was almost over when Virgil’s nerves finally hit high gear. _He hasn’t come yet. Did he see me staring yesterday? Did he hate his latte? Did he get hurt? Will he ever come?? Was that him? No, that was just Patton. How could I even think that was Roman? They hardly look alike._

He almost spilled steamed milk on his hand before he caught himself and forced himself to breathe. Roman was probably just running late or had to skip his coffee today. Virgil’s number wouldn’t disappear at midnight. He could give it to him the next time he was in. The last of the steady line cleared out and he was able to stand still and close his eyes for a moment.

Remy stretched and tossed his apron onto its hook. “Virgil, the shop is yours. Take care of Gilda for me.”

Virgil waved him goodbye and watched the traffic slow in the bakery as well, the cheery bell on the door dinging more gently. A small grin spread across his face as “Medium Black Coffee, No Room, for Logan” passed the last of the bakery customers to come face to face with Patton himself at the register. Eager to see if today would be the day the uptight man finally said something, he almost missed the door swing open on the café’s side. Like a white charger leading a noble army, all red and gold and righteousness, Roman came up to the register with a dazzling, dragon-slaying smile.

Virgil really needed to stop reading into this so much.

But he did hope that it wasn’t just his poor, wishful, eternal heart seeing a slightly broader smile than usual as Virgil greeted the auburn-haired man with a warm “Good morning, Roman.”

“It’s good now,” he grinned back, gleaming. “You wouldn’t believe the struggles I’ve already faced this morning.”

“Ah yeah, those morning gremlins, they’ll get you down. Nothing that some sugar with a side of coffee can’t fix, I’m sure. What can I get you?”

Roman leaned dramatically against the top of the barista counter. “I just can’t decide. Anything with caramel. Lots and lots of caramel. Beyond that...” he glanced up at Virgil and grinned again. Virgil felt more than a little giddy. “...surprise me,” the other man finished. Was that a wink? Was Virgil dreaming that?

No, it was definitely a wink. Sybil’s shroud, he hoped he was reading these signals right. Or else he might die of the charm.

“One caramel surprise, coming up. Here or to go?”

“To go, please. Thanks, Virgil.”

Roman flashed one more grin at the shorter man and sauntered over to the bakery. _He knows my name! Yes, I have a name tag but hardly anyone looks at it, unless they’re about to yell for a manager. Not that Remy cares, ever. Okay, okay. Breathe._

He grabbed a cup and steadied his hand. He carefully scribbled his phone number so that the collar wouldn’t obscure it, signed: “Virgil :)”

Was the smiley too much? No, leave it. It’s fine. It’s fine. That won’t be what pushes him to use it or not. Breathe.

He prepared the drink and finished the sweet confection with caramel drizzle, attaching top and collar just as Roman arrived back with his morning cupcake - er, double chocolate muffin – wrapped up in a _Crumb On In!_ pastry bag.

“As promised, one caramel surprise for Roman,” Virgil said with a smile. The taller man grinned and took it from his hand. His eyes flicked down as he took a sip. Did he see it? Will he say something?

Roman licked a bit of foam and drizzle off his lip just as he made eye contact again. Virgil’s mouth went dry. 

“Just the kind of surprise I needed to start off the day,” said the unbelievable flirt as he waved two free fingers around his muffin and swept out the door again.

Virgil was fairly certain this was what actual death must feel like. The man who’d waited for thousands of years could not wait a single minute more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roman is a goddamn flirt.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented or left kudos I get little butterflies of happiness whenever I see them <3
> 
> Also, this chapter brought to you by ya girl finally taking the LSATs and the weight being lifted, I can finally write more!


	7. Welcome to Crumb On In!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka, Hi Dad
> 
> Virgil hangs out with everyone favorite peppy paternal pal, Patton

That evening, as the stores were about to close, Virgil’s phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket

Remy (Boss): Virginal Virtuous Virgil, did you do it?  
R: did you gay up?  
Virgil: yes and i hate you for convincing me to do this  
V:he didn’t directly acknowledge it  
V:now i’m just waiting  
V:aghhh how do you do this  
R: hun, it’s okay. just chill. waiting sucks,  
R: but there’s nothing you can do now  
R: except send Gilda my love  
R: Also, please ask Patton about next week’s combo specials  
R: (I never remember them)  
V: Thanks Boss. I will.

Virgil sighed. He hated this… jittery feeling. He’d felt so alive, talking with Roman, even as embarrassed as he’d been. At least his searching online had assured him he wasn’t actually sick. Just “flustered” and “blushing.” This must be more of the same.

How could they stand it, humans? They took risks far bigger than his, but still managed to survive the wait without knowing what could happen. And they had so much less time to waste.

Enough of this. He shook his head. It was time to go do his job. Plus, a visit to _Crumb On In!_ was always pleasant.

He placed the ‘be back soon’ bell on the counter just in case and made his way over to the bakery.

It was late enough in the day that only Patton was behind the counter, and the seating was entirely empty. Virgil went around the counter to speak to baker and stopped. The fair-haired man was focused on a cake stand, piping bag in hand. His bluish-grey eyes were narrowed, staring through thick glasses frames at a small arrangement of cupcakes. Orange-and-white-striped frosting was smeared on his cheek, the table in front of him, and the second piping bag laying there. His hands were deft as he make small, precise movements, his tongue sticking out just a bit with concentration. With a last flourish, he stood up and regarded his work. Suddenly noticing Virgil, the man smiled broadly.

“Hey there kiddo! You’re just in time to see my newest creation!” With a flourish, he spun the cake stand to reveal cupcakes, frosted to look like ginger tabbies, with tiny whiskers, noses, and eyes. “I call them my Cat-Nips!”

Virgil could hear the hyphen, and was confused. “You didn’t actually put catnip in them, did you? What would that stuff even do to humans?”

Patton smiled, wiping off his hands on his colorfully-stained apron. “Of course not, you silly billy! No, these are Adult™ cupcakes. I baked a nip of liquor into the batter. So these ones are ginger rum Cat-Nips! And over there,” he gestured to a full cake stand already on display, “are the Kahlua Kitties!”

“How do you come up with these ideas? I’ve never heard of anything like them!”

“Oh, anything with cats is right up my _alley,_ ” Patton cheesed at the taller man. “Get it? Alley cat!”

Virgil grinned. It was hard not to around the friendly baker. Patton acted like he’d known Virgil all his life. It was a completely new and alien experience, but it made his insides go warm, like a roaring fire in winter.

“Speaking of your _purr_ fect baking…” Virgil was rewarded with an even wider grin as Patton clapped his hands. “A pun! You made a pun! This is why you’re my favorite dark son.”

Virgil had been incredibly confused the first time Patton used the phrase. He didn’t have any parents, let alone a father several millennia younger than he. But it was nice, feeling like he belonged.

“Remy will be heartbroken to know I’ve replaced him. Speaking of Remy, that’s what I needed to ask - he’s forgotten next week’s combo special again.”

“Of course! Just a minute, I have a calendar,” the man said, turning on his heel to rummage through a drawer. Of all the clever things the bakafé did, the combos were Virgil’s favorites. Each week, there were specific pairings of café and bakery offerings. Remy helped, sometimes, but it was mostly Patton’s punny marketing that made it work.

“Next week is Crème de la Cream! Cream puffs and crème brûlée lattés!” Patton informed Virgil. “And the week after is Choco-Loco-Mocho - mochas and chocolate biscuits in the shape of trains. That one was Joan’s idea,” he added, pride shining around him. Before he’d opened the bakery, Patton had been a cooking teacher and guidance counselor at the local high school. He’d convinced his friends among the faculty to let some seniors take work-study jobs, and now Talyn and Joan alternated mornings during the rush and picked up the occasional after-school shift. If Virgil had thought Patton acted like a father figure to _him_ , it was nothing compared to the paternal level around his younger “children.”

“Those both sound amazing. Thanks, Patton.” Virgil turned to go, then stopped. “Actually, I wanted to ask - those, uh, jam muffins you make. Are they popular?”

Patton paused, the smallest hint of a flinch in his perpetual smile. “Well, I love them. Not a lot of other people do, though. I end up taking them home or donating the extras at the end of the day. I know it’s probably not worth it, from the business-y side of things but- I think they’re worth it.” He looked like he was about to add something, but released a small sigh instead. Noticing Virgil’s stare, he smiled brightly again. “Anything I can get you while you’re here, you laughy sapphy? A pastry? Some bread? A hug?”

“No thanks, Pat, I’m good. But um…” He paused. He didn’t want to interfere too much. But Patton was such a good friend, and so selfless, all the time. Virgil wanted him to feel like he could be a _little_ selfish, if he wanted.

“Pat, if there’s a specific reason that you think the muffins are worth it… I think it would be okay if you told him that.”

Patton looked up, shocked. His mouth opened and closed several times, before it configured itself into its default smile. “Well, kiddo, I’m my own favorite customer of these delicious little munchkins, so I’ll be sure to remind myself that!”

“No, Pat, I mean-”

“They’re not for anyone else,” Patton said, uncharacteristically cutting off Virgil, his smile deflating. “And if they were I’m sure it would be entirely inappropriate for me to… to force my feelings onto them. I just run a bakery. I’m not entitled to anyone’s time. Especially if they’ve made it clear they don’t want to be over here any more than they have to be.” He gestured half-heartedly at the pastel paradise that was _Crumb On In!_

Virgil looked down. He’d probably misread things. It wouldn’t be unlikely - it’s not like he’d spent that much time in direct contact with the daily workings of humanity. Subtle social cues were still the hardest to correctly identify and interpret.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume, or pry. If you like those muffins, that’s all that matters. Your baking makes so many people happy, and you should definitely be one of them.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Patton said. His smile had somewhat returned. “I know you need to clean up and close - anything I can get you for the road? Last chance before the day-olds go to the soup kitchen!”

“Do you have any challa left? I could eat a whole loaf right now.”

“For my favorite son? Of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my smol soft son. 
> 
> (I also would _really_ like to try the alcoholic cupcakes he's making here)


	8. Sweet Dreams are Made of These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to a different bakery, but familiar jokes

#### Flashback: central Europe, 1000 CE

Kat Baker was not a very good one. At the very least, she was the worst baker in the Baker family. And today she’d proved beyond a doubt that if she inherited running the family store, as she was expected to, _Bakers’ Dozen_ would be out of business within the week. She could practically feel three generations of Baker women glaring at her in disappointment.

It had started with the sign.

Mama had asked her to paint a new sign after the old one rotted. She had been ecstatic. Finally, a chance to create something not made of icing! Something that would last!

She’d been very methodical about it, too. She’d sketched several designs and got Mama’s approval, and made a quick version on parchment paper before trying to recreate it on the wooden sign that hung outside the thatched-roof bakery.

But today, once she finally had gotten her paints out, she had gotten too caught up in it, and she’d forgotten to take the loaves out of the oven. The simple daily loaves. The kind that people actually depended on the Baker business for. The kind that were the staple of half their villages’ meals for the day. They had burned, and Mama and her sister Cythera had had to use up the extra dough to quickly get out as many as possible for the daily traffic.

All the pretty, fancy baking that Kat was good at helping with was just extra, the kind of thing that would help them maintain and expand their business. The village loved her sugar flowers and decorations, even the elegantly braided and twisted breads, but they didn’t live on sweetcakes. The daily bread was the backbone of the town and the store itself. Mama was furious.

Kat had run to the woods, crying. Why couldn’t she be a better daughter, a better Baker. Why was she so flighty when her family needed her to be stable, and dependable, and adult?

She ran down a barely-seen path to a small glade, and threw herself down on the mossy bank of the small pond there. This was her paradise, her tranquil pool. She sat and breathed in and out, listening to forest sounds and admiring the flowers around her. At least here she felt like she belonged, and there were no expectations to disappoint.

Relaxing, she doodled in the dirt with a reed plucked from the bank, sketching the water lilies gently floating on the pool’s surface. She started adding flourishes - a frog on a lilypad, a bird overhead, a butterfly in flight. Her concentration was entirely locked on the spreading patterns drawn in the dirt.

Right up until she heard a splash and a voice yell for help.

A tiny blue form was in the middle of the pool, struggling to stay afloat as sodden white wings threatened to sink it. With a start but no hesitation, she waded in, and used a lilypad to scoop up the small creature.

Kat brought it back to land, and deposited her tiny, soaked burden on the dry moss. Shakily standing, a tiny voice said “Thank you, you sweet thing! You saved my life!”

Getting a good look at last, Kat gasped. It was a _fairy_! A real-life fairy! She knew they existed of course, and everyone said this forest was mystic, but she’d only ever heard stories. The small creature had sky-blue skin, from tiny toes to dangling antennae. Moth wings, white with light brown dots, flapped out from a wee torso in an effort to dry them.

“Oh, toadstools- I haven’t introduced myself. Hello, human! I’m Baxter!”

“Hello, Baxter, I’m Kat. Are you alright?”

The little fairy grinned. “I’ve been _wetter!_ I was almost in _over my head_ in that situation! But thanks to you I’ll be all _flight_ now!”

Kat giggled. The fairy grinned even more broadly. They loved it when people enjoyed their jokes.

“So, mister Kat!” they peeped cheerfully. “How can I repay you for saving my life?”

“Oh, it was no troub- wait, mister?”

“Fiddlesticks, did I get that wrong again? You humans and your 'genders', I’ll never learn. Do you prefer miss, is that right term? More importantly, can I call you Kitty Kat?”

Kat scowled. “No one calls me Kitty. Well, except Cythy, and only because she’s my little sister. And Mama, but only to annoy me. I’m just Kat. _Miss_ Kat, but only if you insist.”

Baxter shrugged philosophically. “Someday, I will find a kitty I can get along with. Actual cats keep trying to eat me. And - oh wait, I was asking a question back there wasn’t I. Oh yes. What can I do to repay you, my sweet Miss Kat?”

Kat grinned at the funny little creature. “You don’t need to do anything for me - unless you can turn me into not a disaster.”

“Exccuussee me?” the fairy asked, offended. They tested their now-dry wings, and fluttered up to Kat’s eye level. “Are you bad-talking my newest best friend?”

“Who’s your - oh. Me.” She shrugged. “It’s not bad-talking if it’s true. I am a disaster and my whole family - no, the whole village - knows it.”

“I will PHYSICALLY FIGHT YOU!” the fairy said, holding up tiny fists. Kat eyed them with a crooked smile. The fairy’s body was all of four inches tall, their long curly antenna only adding another half inch. “I mean it!” they insisted fiercely. “You are great and perfect! You just saved my life! How could you not be!”

“Because I’m supposed to be a baker and I just can’t do any of it right. Not to mention actually running a business! I just mess everything up and make my family’s life harder.”

“You adorable wingless butterfly, I am _sure_ that’s not true.”

“It is. Every last bread loaf burned today, all because of me. People needed those, and because of me Cythera and Mama will be exhausted tonight when they need to be preparing for tomorrow.”

“I know! I could help you! With just a pinch of magic, you won’t give _loaf_ a bad name!”

Kat half-heartedly laughed at the pun, but couldn’t restrain her sighs. “But even then… I’d be dependent on that for everything. And it wouldn’t be fair to Cythera. She’s the one who can actually bake, and she’s so good at it. Plus, she’s already had so many good ideas about how to make Mama’s life easier. Why couldn’t she have been the oldest? She could inherit the store, like she deserves to. I just want to make beautiful things, without the pressure of knowing families rely on me every day to get food out early enough.”

Baxter frowned. “Have you asked if you can just… _not_ inherit and let your sister take over? It seems like that would make everyone happy.”

“I want to, it’s just… I love my family so much, I would never want to do wrong by them. If I tell Mama I don’t want to run the shop… wouldn't that be rejecting all her hard work, and telling her it didn’t mean anything? And her mother’s work, and her mother’s mother’s work… they all took on the responsibility for our store and our family name. None of them shirked their duty. If I do, that’s who I’ll be my whole life. The Baker who wasn’t.” A tear fell from her cheek and landed on her stained apron.

Baxter sat on her shoulder, legs dangling past her collarbone. “Hey, kiddo, it’s alright! You would be happier, and so would your family - that’s all you could ask for, right?”

Kat shook her head, careful not to knock off her new friend. “It just feels wrong. I know I’m not the best at it, but I promised Mama I would carry on. I promised Papa I would. How can I back out of a promise, especially if I don’t know it will work out? Or even what else I would do?”

“What do you _want_ to do, Kat Not-a-Baker?”

“I want to create, but not from dough,” she whispered reverently. “I want to paint and draw, and make beautiful things. Permanent things,” she added, looking sadly at her drawings in the dirt. In the scramble to rescue Baxter, almost all the marks had been smudged or splashed away. “It always feels so natural and right, when I’m able to sketch, or doodle, or paint. But I don’t know if that means it’s what I’m really meant to do, or if I’m just frivolous and need to focus. That’s what Gran’mama always said, anyway.”

Baxter hummed. “I might be able to help you there,” they said, dangling their legs and swinging them a little. “With my help, you might be able to find just the right person who can tell you exactly what you’re meant to be.”

Kat turned her head to stare at the blue creature. “Like… like a Quest?!”

“Exactly like a Quest,” Baxter replied. They knew that techhhhhnicalllyy, they’re not supposed to be going off on Quests without becoming an official Fairy Godparent, but even official Parents didn’t get to choose their Godchildren. And Baxter liked Kat a lot.

Plus, the Elders were sticks-in-the-mud and kept saying that Baxter “wasn’t ready” and needed to “stop making so many puns” and “take this seeeeeriousssslyyy.” All the younger fairies loved Baxter, and thought their advice was great. Maybe if they proved they could be a really great Godparent to Kat, the Elders would finally see reason.

This was a great plan, they could feel it all the way to the tips of their wings.

“Have you heard of the Harz Forest, or the Fortuneteller of the Wood?” they asked, fluttering out in front of the teen.

“Only that humans almost never go in it, and that everyone who tries to enter gets lost. And Auntie Delinda says it’s because the magic folk scare or curse everyone to make sure only the worthy can reach the Teller, but Mama says that’s horseradish and that fortune-tellers are just regular people telling you what you want to hear.”

Baxter put their hands on their hips. “I am offended. Here I am, a real-life fairy, and you’re telling me the magic folk are horseradish?”

“Don’t blame me!” Kat said with a pout. “I’ve been looking for fairies, or unicorns, or even a dragon as long as it’s something magical, for my whole life, and I only just found you on accident today. If most humans have to go at least fifteen years without any clues, no wonder Mama thinks fairies have disappeared.”

Baxter looked chagrined. “The fae folk have been limiting our contact lately, it’s true. Does that mean your mother won’t let you come with me?”

“Not at all - when she sees you, and you tell her we’re going on a Quest! She’ll have to agree. She may be a skeptic, but even she knows the tales - that to be a fairy’s Goddaughter is special, and there are consequences of denying a fairy Quest.”

“That...is… absolutely right! Yes, what we’re doing is a true, official fairy Quest, because you, Kat Baker, are just too special to ignore, you delightful little cherub. Yessiree, you are indeed a Goddaughter, and I am your Official™ Fairy Godparent!” Baxter lied. It was for a good cause, after all.

“Did you say something after official? What is a tee-ehm? Is it like a fairy’s magic wand?”

“Uh, yes! Yes, that’s very wise of you to point out. I will need to stop by my colony to get my magic wand before we can leave. If you meet me here as early as you can tomorrow morning, we can go talk to your mother then. And then we can be off on our Quest - to find the Fortuneteller of the Wood!”

Kate leapt to her feet. “You mean it? Really? Tomorrow? Oh, I’m so excited! Yes, I will be here once the bread is out tomorrow, just after sunrise. I’ll see you tomorrow, Baxter!”

Baxter watched her go, then wheeled in midair to head back to the colony. They’d committed, now. All that was left to do was get a wand.

* * *

 

If Kat hadn’t been convinced that Baxter was magical, this proved it.

Her Mama, her skeptic, no-nonsense, stubborn Mama, had needed only 5 minutes talking with the little fairy to allow her to go off on her Quest. Mama had packed a haversack with the most durable loaves, and made sure she brought her Papa’s forest journal of edible plants.

“Take care of it, and yourself, my sweet Kat. I hope your Quest goes well, and that you find what you’re looking for,” she had said, hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead.

Cythy was jealous, but promised to support Mama. “Bring me back an extra prince, Kitty! Or tell Baxter to come live with us!” Their charm had clearly roped in the entire Baker family. It was something in those earnest brown eyes, and the wide smile. Plus, they seemed to give off respect like a perfume when they put their mind to it.

And now, not even a day later, they’d reached the edge of the Harz Forest. They knew that the Fortuneteller lived deep in the woods, at the furthest point from all the edges. Kat was dying of curiosity - what kept people away? Would it be scary? Would she be ready?

She and Baxter were following what path seemed to exist. It was faint, and definitely not commonly trod. But it definitely was moving steadily away from the edge of the forest, so it must be heading deeper in.

Baxter spent parts of the journey flying beside her, and parts sitting on her shoulder or on her pack, telling stories about antics they and their fae friends had gotten into, and slowly convincing the girl to let them call her Kitty Kat. They were in the middle of a rather entertaining story regarding Baxter’s first ill-fated attempt to befriend an actual cat when they suddenly pulled on Kat’s hair, squeaking “Pump the brakes there, kiddo.”

Kat looked around, confused. She didn’t see anything threatening - what was wrong?

Baxter flew out in front of her, soft wings flapping as they removed their wand from a tiny holster on their waist. Their eyes and wand glowed as they turned in a semicircle, continuing to hover. “Aha! Oh, that is just so clever,” they exclaimed. Turning to their human companion - no, their Goddaughter - Baxter explained, “It’s wood sprite magic. That’s what protects this forest. There are misdirection charms everywhere, designed to send any humans right back to the edges of the forest without realizing they’ve been turned around. It would work on anyone unable to cast spells, though magic folk like me might notice something funny. Luckily, I am your Godparent, and I am Prepared!”

A glow arose from the tip of their wand, spreading into a silvery bubble the enclosed fairy and human alike. It hung for a moment, then melted away. “We’ll be all set now - the spells won’t affect us. The sprites have gotten more strategic than I remember - time was they’d just try to strangle any intruders one by one. But this way, they only need to maintain the spell, and don’t risk losing any of their own!”

Kat rubbed her throat at the thought of wood sprites and strangulation. “Will they still try to stop us? Is there danger?”

“I don’t believe so. We just need to be careful to not harm any trees. Not that either of us _wood_ ,” they added, flying next to Kat just to elbow her lightly. She giggled. “No really! These wood sprites are all the same! No bite, all bark!”

“Baxter, you were definitely destined to be my Godparent. Papa used to make the same jokes all the time. I always groaned and complained, but I loved them. I wish I could have told him that.”

The blue fairy felt their heart squeeze. They flew up and stroke the girl’s head. “Kiddo, don’t you worry. He knew.”

* * *

 

As Baxter had predicted, they didn’t encounter any trouble. It was a far distance to walk, but they were able to find small clearings to sleep in. At night, Baxter cast a protection spell just in case, and included heat in the ward, so there was no need to harm any trees for firewood.

It took two nights and three days of walking before Baxter noticed heavier layers of magic, and Kat spotted a break in the trees ahead. “This must be it!” Kat said excitedly. “The center of the forest - we’re almost at the home of the Fortuneteller of the Wood!”

They were expecting a cottage, maybe a tower. What they found was a huge natural home built in the heart of a tree. A sprawling tree, at least fifteen feet in diameter, twisted up towards the clouds above. A hollow in the middle of the trunk contained what looked like a natural staircase as the tree continued to grow around it. The stairs twined within the trunk before disappearing into a dense canopy.

“Should we… go up?” Kat asked nervously. “I hate to barge in…”

“The Teller probably isn’t used to guests, so wouldn’t know to check for us,” Baxter noted. “Let’s see where the stairs lead.”

They climbed up carefully, both in awe of the massive natural being. They reached the top only to find a room made out of twined branches. The floor was a net of branches in all directions, curving up and around to create the walls. It felt a bit like standing in a wicker basket - a still-living basket that pulsed with green life on every side.

Kat made eye contact with Baxter, who nodded encouragingly. She took a deep breath, and called out “Mr. Fortuneteller? Teller of the Wood? I come seeking my destiny!”

They heard a rustling above them. Through the leaves and branches above her head, Kat saw a form swinging back and forth from branch to branch. It descended quickly, but with what was clearly ease of long practice. The form finally dropped deftly in front of the fairy and human guests in its home, bracing its landing with a bended knee.

The form rose to full height. It was a long way to go. Baxter’s first thought was a druid or a sprite grown to fifty times its size, but neither druids nor sprites could be fortune-tellers. No, this was just a Sage who’d chosen to blend in with his home. His skin was a dark, warm brown, made even darker by his leathery tan. His hair was a mixture of dark and light green, falling messily into his face and almost - almost - obscuring shockingly bright green eyes. His cheeks had what could have been greenish stubble, but could also be lichen. At his full height, he was at least six feet tall, towering over both his guests.

Baxter was absolutely overcome. They would have expected the Sage to stand awkwardly, but his body was well-proportionate to his height, and he was clearly in his element surrounded by his wooded home. When Baxter was finally able to pull his eyes away from the tall tree man, he noticed wood sprites darting in and out of the tree room, flitting around their giant counterpart and away.

“Welcome, Seeker,” the Teller said at last. His voice was rough with disuse, but shiveringly deep, and Baxter could feel themself swooning as they fluttered by Kat’s shoulder. “I am the one some call the Fortuneteller of the Wood. My name is Devas.”

Kat gave a small curtsy. “Greetings, Devas. I am Katherine Baker, Kat. And this is my fairy Godparent, Baxter.”

“A Quest, is this? You must be very special to have a fairy Quest bring you to me. Particularly when I have not been an active Fortune Teller in over a hundred years.”

Kat beamed with pride. “They are an excellent Godparent, and have guided me here to help me find my destiny!”

Devas hesitated, and seemed ready to decline, but paused when the small blue fairy came up to just below eye level. Baxter felt their tiny heart beating much quicker as those emerald eyes inspected him. Devas rumbled, “I have been acting as protector to the sprites of this forest, helping the trees themselves repel advancing farmers and conquerors. Tell me, fairy, why I should resume the ancient duties I had left behind these many years?”

Baxter shivered, partly in fear, and partly not in fear at all. They drew a deep breath, and channeled their innate magic to sweeten the mood of the giant man. “Devas, great Sage, we have journeyed long to find you. My young friend here - that is, my Goddaughter, is torn between duty and passion. She just wants to know which choice will be Right. Can you, Heart of the Harz, Teller of the Wood, please help her? It’s for her family!”

Devas had never seen a fairy with such striking brown eyes, made all the more startling by the contrast from their bright blue body. And the way the little thing looked at him as they asked, on behalf of their charge… Devas may have been committed to his forest home, but he didn’t have a wooden heart. He relented.

“Very well, young Seeker. Do you know the invocation?” he asked as relaxed his lanky form into a tailor’s seat. Sitting, he still almost as tall as the teen who cautiously approached him.

“I do, great Teller,” she said, taking a breath. “Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

“I am.” Her small face was determined.

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Devas’ huge brown hands enveloped Kat’s, the paler skin of his palms still not as light as hers. He closed his eyes and looked into the ether.

Kat Baker. What a relief. No dragons or quests or risking the world. She just wanted to know if she was wrong to have an ‘impractical’ passion. It reminded Devas fondly of the farmers from all those years ago at Delphi. No grand decisions of right and wrong - just hoping that life will go her way. And it was within her power - no magic needed. If only all destinies were like this, Devas might not have escaped to the woods for his current lifetime. He smiled internally, and spoke.

_“To trust that beauty will be recognized, you must commit with all your heart.”_

Kat withdrew her hands, her eyes shining. She looked up at her fluttering companion and grinned. “Baxter, did you hear that! That sounds like a good sign!”

“It sure does, kiddo! I can hardly be- _leaf_ it!”

Something was bothering Devas. This wasn’t his first interaction with a fairy Godparent, and this one was… different. Much less polished. Far more scattered than fairies tended to want Godparents to be. And Devas was just a tad suspicious.

“Fairy - Baxter, was it? Do you seek a destiny as well? On behalf of your Quest, I will Tell it for you, if you wish.”

“Ohhh I don’t know that that’s necessary, my future can really stay a mys- _tree_!”

“Oh Bax, don’t be silly!” Kat piped up. “Even if you know you’re going to keep being a fairy Godparent, don’t you want a hint for how things will go?”

A strained look flashed across the little creatures’ blue face. They fluttered up towards the leafy ceiling, muttering to themself. Finally, they descended, and landed on Devas’ large palm. “I… suppose there are questions I have for the future. Here goes nothing. Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

Baxter’s face turned a much lighter shade of blue, but they proceeded nonetheless. “I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Two tiny hands wrapped around the Sage’s thumb as the ether clouded his vision once more.

As he gazed through flashing futures, Devas immediately felt his suspicions were well-founded. There were possible future Godchildren, yes, but far more were ending up selfish, or cruel, or cowardly than fairies were supposed to allow. And in the futures without Godchildren, Baxter was exiled entirely, shut out of their colony. Devas frowned. He didn’t see any future choices that caused it. What could the fairy have already done? Was it worth it to check?

A sudden voice, high-pitched but firm and filled with disdain. “Once a thief, forever a thief.” It came from a grave-looking fairy, clearly much older than Baxter, surrounded by a group of stone-faced elders. That was it. Devas was going to look into the past.

> _Devas is Baxter, sitting with a smaller, younger fairy. “Now Felics, I know you didn’t mean to hurt Poppy, but you did hurt them, and you need to apologize. “But Bax, what if they are still mad at me? Can’t I just wait until they feel better?”  
>  “No, kiddo, you can’t. Sometimes doing the right thing doesn’t feel all that great.”_
> 
> _The world shifts, to only hours later. Devas feels their fairy heart fluttering as quickly as their wings with nerves. Their prank went wrong, and their best friend is furious with them. Why can’t they understand it was a joke? Devas always meant it to be a joke, they should know that. If they don’t understand that and don’t want to be part of the delights that are Devas’ brilliant pranks, maybe it’s best they not be friends anymore._

Devas paused in his visions. He recognized the sentiment - feelings always threatened to overpower better judgment. But to give in to the emotional reaction just after urging the impressionable not to? No wonder their potential future Godchildren could be so… petty.

> _It is night, just a few days ago. Devas flies silently through the colony. They’d slipped through the illusion on the huge, mossy boulder during the ritual hour, as everyone was out in fairy circles. Their luck is doubly in - only one Elder is guarding the inner vault, and it’s Blunda. She is old and sleepy, and it takes just a whispered suggestion with a tiny twist of magic to have her snoring. Devas grins to themself. Clearly, this is why they would make a great Godparent. They’re so resourceful! The Elders really didn’t know what they were missing, delaying their first deployment. They fly into the vault, and found racks upon racks of magic wands. Bee-ee-ay-youtiful. They select a belt and holster from the tray, then reach for one of the magic objects. As they snatch it, they sense alarm spells going off, zooming to the Elders. Time for their escape. They race past Blunda (still sleeping) and take a hidden shortcut through the colony walls, escaping into open air. They feel a slight twinge against their conscience. They know stealing is Wrong, but who else would help Kat? The Elders were so particular in which children were named Godchildren. Baxter likes Kat a lot, and she was so kind to them. So helping her must be Right, and anything they do that helps her is also Right._

Devas drew back, frowning. Now the futures all made sense. But the fairy can’t be beyond all help, are they? Devas knew he was likely overstepping, but he asked Baxter a clarifying question.

“Fairy, what do you want your destiny to be? What do you want to be your life’s work and legacy?”

Baxter smiled cheerfully. “I want to be a Good Fairy and Godparent, and help as many kiddos as I can, and bring smiles to their faces!”

“Can a Godparent be Good if their idea of Good shifts?” Devas asked quietly.

The fairy went pale. Devas nodded, then spoke Baxter’s destiny.

“ _A willow that bends without end supports no weight. An unforgiving oak will break those that oppose it. Only if you can resist these extremes will the forest path be revealed to you._ ”

Baxter’s tiny mouth hung open, processing what the forest Sage had said. They had a lot to consider.

* * *

 

As fairy and girl made their way along the long journey home, Kat asked Baxter what they were thinking, unnerved by their uncharacteristic silence.

“Kitty Kat, have I been a good Godparent to you? Have I helped you figure out the Good thing to do?”

“Of course you’ve been good! You got us to the Sage and now I know what I need to do! At least I think I do.”

“But do I do what’s Good and Right? Or just what I think will make me happy?”

“Both, I think!”

“What about when they’re not the same?”

Kat frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s happened, has it?”

Baxter’s insides twisted. Should they have admitted to Kat that the wand was stolen? But that would mean admitting that they hadn’t been assigned to her, that she hadn’t been picked as a Goddaughter. Would that hurt her? Wouldn’t she feel liked Baxter had betrayed her?

Their sudden realization caused them to fly straight into a tree branch.

They were asking themselves entirely the wrong questions. They couldn’t focus on the perceived outcomes of their actions, but on what was the right thing to do. And the right thing to do was to tell Kat the truth. All of it.

They had betrayed Kat, by lying, and convincing her to leave her family on false pretenses. The forest hadn’t been dangerous, but it could have been, and Kat would have been at risk of her life without even knowing why.

“Kiddo? I mean, Kat? Can we take a break for a second,” they asked nervously.

“Of course, Baxter. Are your wings tired?”

“No, I just… need to get something off my chest.”

“We’d better sit down then. Wouldn’t want you to get crushed!” Kat replied with a goofy grin. The cheesy joke, so like their own, made Baxter grin back in spite of themself.

Kat settled carefully in a mossy clearing, checking for saplings before sitting gently. Even though there was no longer a threat, she didn’t want to harm Devas’ forests.

Baxter found a sapling, barely over two feet tall, and alit on the top-most branch. Leaning against the slender trunk, they let their wings fall back into a rest position. They looked down at their tiny blue feet, not wanting to make eye contact with Kat just yet.

“I… I want to apologize, Kat. I have not been a good Godparent to you.”

Kat looked at him quizzically. “Bax, what do you mean? You’ve been so nice! And we succeeded in our Quest to find the Teller, and we’re practically home already. That all sounds like a great Godparent to me!”

“That’s just it, Kat. It wasn’t a Quest, not truly. And… I’m not a real Godparent. I just really, really wanted to be one. I’m so sorry,” Baxter said sadly. They looked up. Kat’s face was one of confusion, but her eyes still radiated trust for her magical companion of the past week. They felt their heart squish itself into an even tighter corner of their chest.

“The fae folk have a lot of very strict rules over who can be deployed as a Godparent, and who can be a Godchild. I’ve always resented those rules, because the Elders kept telling me I wasn’t ready, and I was so sure that I was. But now I understand, finally, why I never was. Kat, I… I lied to you. From practically the moment we first met. I was never chosen to be your Godparent. And to the best of my knowledge… you were never chosen to be a Godchild.”

Kat’s confusion shifted into clear self-doubt, and her eyes started to mist over with tears. This was even harder than Baxter had feared it would be.

“Kitty Kat, I promise you, it’s not because you aren’t brilliant, or talented, or delightful. There are just very exacting standards. It always feels like the Elders have some weird measuring cord - ‘Must Be This Miserable or Have This Much Potential Greatness or Must Have Been This Much Switched At Birth to Get a Fairy’. It’s not about who deserves one, I don’t think, but about whose life absolutely needs magical help to spread the most good in the world. And we don’t want to admit it, but we fae folk are shrinking in number. We live for hundreds of years, yes, but almost all our colonies are aging, and we don’t have as many potential parents to deploy. I’ve never heard of a fairy living over 1,000, and my Elders are all well into their 900s...”

Baxter shook their head. “Sorry, I’m getting distracted. That’s not the point. The point is… I wanted so badly to have the title of Godparent, to skip the process and go right to the glory, that I lied to you. I justified it because I was helping you, but I was really just trying to help myself. I lied to your family, and brought you out to these woods. What if they had been truly dangerous? If you’d been hurt… Kitty Kat, I would never forgive myself. And it would have been all my fault. I even stole this wand from my colony’s vaults, and told myself I deserved to have one. I am glad that you got to hear your destiny, and that you feel confident in your path moving forward. I really am. But you deserved better than me - as a Godparent or as a friend. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

They took a deep breath, still avoiding the girl’s eyes. “I understand if you are mad at me. I hope you will still allow me to accompany you until the end of this journey, so that I can at least protect you until you are safe at home.”

Long moments passed. Kat still had not made a sound. Baxter cringed. _She hates me. She must. How could she not - I am a thief and a liar and I risked her life for my own ego._

_Or maybe, she is just nervous. I should reassure her. If she needs to be reassured, I need to be the one to do it. I owe her that much, at least._

They peered up, still cringing, prepared for anger and disgust. They instead saw disappointment. Somehow, that was even worse.

“I… don’t know what to say. Thank you for telling me the truth.” Kat looked down, fiddling with the frayed hem of her apron. “I’m glad that I did get to meet the Teller, at least. And the sprites. I’m glad I know there is a destiny where I am happy, and pursuing my dream. I just wish… I wish I’d actually deserved it.”

Baxter’s heart broke.

“Kitty Kat… you did deserve it. And you do. Kat, please look at me,” Baxter pleaded. The girl reluctantly met their eyes, her own bright with unshed tears. “Kat, you deserve all of this and more. Certainly more than this shoddy excuse for a fake Godparent. I… know I haven't exactly been trustworthy. Ask me to swear by anything, though. I really and truly mean it.”

Kat frowned. “Swear by your destiny, then. The tales all say that breaking an oath will destroy the magic of what you swear by. Will you risk it? Or will you take the easy way out again?”

Baxter swallowed. Her tone hurt, but they knew they deserved it. “I will, Kat. I will swear by my destiny that you deserved this quest, and you deserved a Godparent. Even if I wasn’t the one you deserved.”

Both fairy and human regarded each other in silence for a moment. The only sound was the whispers of wind in the treetops above.

Finally, Kat nodded. “Thank you, Baxter. I believe you. And… I forgive you.”

“Why? I mean, really? You don’t have to, I know it was wrong and hurtful, you don’t have to be okay with it already…”

“But that’s just it, Bax,” the girl said. She stood, and reached out a hand for the fairy to step on. “You _know_ now. I think, maybe, you knew before too, but you didn’t want to admit it. Because it was too hard, or too painful. But now you have, despite that.” She held small blue being up to her eye level. “You made mistakes, Bax. And your mistakes hurt others. But I don’t think you’ll ever make those mistakes again, now that you see that. I think you’re a Good fairy, and have always been one deep down. You know to listen to that deep-down voice more now.”

Baxter tried to swallow the quickly-forming lump in their throat. She _believed_ in them. After everything they’d brought her through, and everything they’d admitted, she believed. They’d never felt like anyone believed in them before. Even before they’d become a prankster, no one in the colony had ever seemed to expect them to be anything special or Good.

“Thank you, Kat. I am going to try my best, and keep trying even when I don’t quite get there. I hope you’ll be proud of me.”

“I know I will be. Swear on my destiny,” she said with a smile.

Baxter flew closer and hugged as much of her face as they could. “I’m sorry I was a fake Godparent, but I am so glad you were my fake Goddaughter. When we get back - will you be my not-fake friend?”

Kat carefully pat their head as a hug back, smiling. “Just you try and stop me!”

Fairy and human set off to the forest’s edge, heading home again. The sprite spells helped guide them away from the heart of the woods, and away from the Sage who’d given them both hope. Baxter was sorry they would likely never see Devas again, but one destiny was enough for anyone’s lifetime.

Besides, the Sage could only get so much credit. Finding him had been a grand adventure, but it was their young human friend who’d truly helped them find what they’d been missing.

Kat had rescued them, the first day they’d met. Now, she’d rescued them again, but for the rest of their life. If it hadn’t been for her, they might never have found their morality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baxter’s wings are based on the moth _Eudeilinia herminiata._ Fun fact - this type of moth feeds exclusively trees from the dogwood genus  
>  _did I specifically surround Baxter with Kat and Dog(wood)s_  
>  _yes, yes I did_
> 
> Baxter: Anglo-Saxon/Scottish origin, means “baker”


	9. An Unexpected Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil runs into a figure from his past. Literally.

Virgil left coffee shop distracted, thinking about his new friends. _There are some things you don’t need to be a Sage to predict,_ he thought. Even if Logan and Patton apparently _both_ had managed to be entirely unaware of the other’s feelings. He didn’t want to push Patton, especially when the baker was so convinced of Logan’s lack of regard - but if the scientist were to make the first move, wouldn’t they both be that much happier?

Absentmindedly looking up at the clouds as he planned, he entirely forgot to look where he was walking.

“Ow!”

He crashed straight into a well-dressed man walking in the opposite direction and fell hard on his rear.

“Wha- I’m so sorry – are you hurt?” Virgil stammered, looking up into mostly-brown eyes. Was that a trick of the light, or were those golden streaks?

“Not at all- barely felt a thing,” the stranger said breezily. “Here, let me asssist you.”

Before Virgil can react, the stranger pulled him up by both hands. Skin met skin, and Virgil’s power sprang to life without his bidding. A rush of possibilities flooded his brain, laced with the thrill and fright of familiarity. Shocked, Virgil pulled his hands back the minute he got to his feet.

“Um, sorry again, hope you’re alright, uh, have a good one,” he said, stumbling over his words and feet as he quickly walked on, pulling up his hood. It was him. The sorcerer, the one whose destiny he wished he could have never been part of. He was here, and Virgil had just seen his fate.

Somewhere behind him he heard an exclamation of surprise and confusion. But he couldn’t risk turning around. He had immediately recognized a fellow magic being on contact - what if the sorcerer had done the same?

Too distracted to sort through the choices on the street, he practically sprinted home. Reaching his apartment building, he checked the street and confirmed that there were no visible sorcerers anywhere near. He slipped inside, threw down wallet and keys, and immediately began to meditate on the couch.

 _Breathe in for four counts. Hold for seven. Out for eight._  
_Four..._  
_Seven..._  
_Eight..._

He concentrated on the possibilities he’d seen. They were tangled threads thanks to how unprepared he’d been, and it had been a while since he’d used his power. But the visions never lied, couldn’t lie, no matter how rusty he got. He shuddered. The sorcerer did not mean well for this world. So many of his choices’ outcomes were desolate, hopeless, and horrific.

So why did Roman keep appearing in them?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Flashback to: 1500s CE, a rocky island in the northwest**

Zephyr was really regretting coming out of retirement.

When his last body had finally aged to the point of death, he’d thought fondly of the only destinies he’d given in that lifetime. Maybe he could leave the woods for the next lifetime, and practice his power again.

It had taken all of one destiny before he remembered why he’d hidden himself deep in the Harz in the first place.

The view was nice, at least. He’d watched the world from the ether, looked north and west, and found this beautiful grotto on a rocky shore. When he stepped out from behind the stone outcroppings concealing the entrance, he could see up the rolling foothills into the highlands beyond. This country felt just a bit more accepting of magic folk - the fae were still widely respected, and despite their dwindling numbers, the local humans were fiercely proud of ‘their’ dragons. When he felt the urge, Zephyr could find others who understood just a bit better what life was like with magic running in your blood.

He sighed, and brushed his white-blond hair out of his eyes. A futile effort with the sea breeze coming from this direction, but he tried all the same. His hair in this form was longer than it had been in several lifetimes. He’d considered coming back as a she or they this time, but ultimately, he was what felt the most true. Just as no matter his form, he was most attracted to masculine or masculine-presenting humans, fairies, or any other humanoid race. Some things, like his magic, were apparently innate.

It was cold today, as it usually was, but at least it wasn’t as snowy as that shack on White Mountain. That had been his worst idea ever. Yes, it was great branding to be the wise old man hidden among snowy peaks, but the yetis had been such a bother, always trying to destroy his shack or harass his Seekers. Here in the highlands, at least, he could communicate with all the magical creatures he encountered in feelings and thought if not words.

Not that he had much, recently. Being a new Sage was always a struggle. Building up a reputation in order to get more Seekers to find you took years. He sighed and walked through an apparent wall of rock into his home. Years of rumor-spreading and self-promotion was _stressful._ He hoped it paid off soon.

No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than a call on the beach summoned his attention.

He let the enchantment on the rocks fall as the caller entered the grotto.

The dark-haired man’s face was lit by a magelight in the palm of his hand. Sparkling yellow flames lit a face that Zephyr could have sworn he’d seen carved on a marble statue back in the day. Dark brown eyes revealed a flashing streak of gold as the stranger straightened. Black hair, perfectly coiffed in a jaunty wave, flopped gently above cheekbones that could slice a feather in midair. His dark cloak was pushed back to reveal a black tunic elegantly embroidered in gold.

_Ohhh, I am in trouble._

He stood to greet the ~~beautiful~~ man, calling out “Welcome, Seeker. I am the Sage Zephyr.”

“Greetings, Sage Zephyr. I am Dante the Golden,” the man replied with a crooked smile.

 _Well, this has been a nice life,_ Zephyr thought deliriously. Bit on the short side, it having been only about 20 years, but at least Zephyr was dying happy, slain by the most elegant man he’d ever seen in his lives. Either that, or several centuries of solitude had really gotten to him.

The sorcerer, or maybe wizard (Zephyr had never bothered to learn the difference: they were men who did magic) let the flames in his hand fade, and draped his cloak on a dry stone. He let Zephyr gesture him to a seat by the Sage’s stone bench while tea brewed on enchanted fire.

“I must say, I’m very impressed by the hospitality. One always hears of the quests undertaken to learn one’s destiny - they never mention the charming host,” Dante said with a casual smile.

If he kept beaming that delicious smile, Zephyr was going to lie and tell him his destiny was to stay in this grotto and smile at him for the rest of his days. Maybe this was just nerves about his first divining in several centuries. He’d try to focus on that, regardless. Being coherent was definitely a requirement to be a functional Sage.

“I’m heartbroken to hear my efforts have been wasted. Though perhaps it is my brethren darkening our collective reputation,” Zephyr managed to reply.

“Speaking of your brethren - can I ask about Sage magic? It’s rather a fascination of mine, well, one of them anyway,” the sorcerer said, accepting a mug of hot tea.

“That does depend on what you would like to know. By our Law, there are some secrets we must keep.”

“That’s just it, actually,” Dante said, eyes lighting up. “The Sages’ Law. From what my research has told me, the Law is not like most laws of magic, in that it is not a physical limitation on the very bounds of ability itself, but rather a custom. A code of conduct of sorts, binding only so far as each Sage chooses to be bound.”

Zephyr nodded, pale hair falling across paler eyes. “Yes, that’s largely true. In the moment, there is little that can stop any individual Sage from flouting our conventions. However, we are all of single kin or race, and there are internal ways of enforcing the rules. If a rule-breaker is particularly unlucky, one of our number may be observing them from the ether and be able to intervene before they even attempt to flout the Law. The luckiest miscreant may get away with it for some short number of years. There is no fleeing entirely from justice. Sooner or later, each of us will return to the ether, and once there, the collective power of all Sages is absolute over any individual.”

“That is fascinating. Is there a discrete list of what can or cannot be done with the power of the ether?” the sorcerer asked eagerly. “Are there any absolute rules?”

“Only the invocation is absolute. After the fall of Delphi, when the Law was made, those words were imbued with the very force of the ether itself. To refuse such a request,” Zephyr shuddered, “even I am not sure the exact punishment, but it is surely terrible.”

Dante pondered this for a moment. “I wish there was history stretching back to the first Sage. Records I have found barely reach back to the third century. But I suppose I can understand wanting to keep some secrets safe. Thank you, Zephyr, for indulging me. May I interrupt this with my own invocation?”

There was that smile again. Zephyr had never been so taken with someone so quickly. “Of course. You are the Seeker, after all.”

The elegant man cleared this throat and spoke. “Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

“I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Zephyr clasped both the man’s hands, half-expecting to feel a jolt of attraction.

> _Suddenly, he smells the acrid scent of burning hair and meat over the familiar tang of seawater. Screams fill his ears. His vision is filled with a dark night, lit up with flames. Houses and castles alike are burning. And there is Dante, above it all, soaring through the air. He is suspended in flight by the very power of heat. The Golden is an appropriate moniker, bedecked as the sorcerer is in the precious metal, lit up by the blaze that has made his enemies melt below his feet. A slim and twisted rod, coated in a metallic substance that shifts colors under his slim hands, guides blasts of power to engulf the few remaining structures. Dante curls his lip in triumph over the last rebellion against his absolute rule._

Cassandra’s mercy. The man was as twisted inside as he was beautiful without.

But there was a future without darkness. Zephyr also saw a near miss, defeat at the hands of an unassuming fire sprite. And the turning point? Ah. The theft of a magic staff, brought to an ancient stone altar - one dedicated to the old gods of the fire sprites. Accidental timing, and just a hint of gumption, and the crisis could be averted.

 _“When the wood lays with stone, the world will turn to Flame,”_ he intoned, opening his eyes.

The sorcerer’s beautiful lips curved into a predatory, triumphant grin. He couldn’t hear the capital letter. But Zephyr knew. He just hoped it would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zephyr: Greek, west wind, pretty boi, also super gay. and I mean _super_ gay. He and Apollo once got into a god fight over a pretty boy and it did not end well
> 
> The destiny is reference that I am embarrassed to admit to so uh. If you guess it correctly I’ll… give you another chapter?
> 
> (Other titles I considered for this chapter: Crashing into the Passt; Sorry, Didn't Ssee You There; A Slimy Reminder)


	10. Matchmaking

Virgil was trying to put the previous day’s encounter out of his head. There was nothing he could do about any of those potential futures, and worrying would only lead to headaches and more sleepless nights.

If he was going to be sleepless, he could at least catch up on more pop culture. Or conspiracy theories, which were quickly becoming a guilty pleasure. Humans had such amazing imaginations, going to such lengths to explain phenomena that was clearly just magic. If he didn’t have an obligation to his fellow magical beings, he would definitely be leaving detailed alternative explanations throughout the internet - like how crop circles were CLEARLY just family reunions between several fairy colonies. Fairies partied hard, and they loved their huge families. Or, you know. They used to.

Another great way to distract himself was to help the mutual attraction (and mutual refusal to do anything about it) between a certain baker and a certain muffin-loving scientist.

Mid-morning, once the rush had passed and the counter was clean, Virgil sat next to Logan, who was eating his daily muffin and clearly not focused on work just yet.

“Hey there, pocket protector. How’s life?”

“Ah, Virgil. Good morning. I am adequate, thank you.”

“How’s the muffin?”

“It is delicio- I mean, it is at its normal standard.”

“So, no compliments to the baker today?” Virgil asked innocently.

“I am sure he is far too busy running his business to be disturbed with acknowledgments of his skill of which he is certainly already aware,” Logan said, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.

Virgil looked pointedly over at the bakery, where Patton was currently playing pat-a-cake with a toddler as her father looked on, laughing.

Logan flushed. “I- no, I haven’t said anything. It’s too awkward.”

“Okay, I know I’m just the barista, and also not the best at people in general, but it really seems to me like you like Patton a lot, and not just because of his baking.”

Logan sighed. “I just… I don’t have the vocabulary to describe what I’m feeling inside when I look at him! My reactions to him are so irrational. I can’t justify them or explain them in any sensible or factual ways. He just… he makes me feel this feeling that feels the way chocolate chip muffins smell. Is that normal?”

Virgil smirked. “I am _so_ the wrong person to ask what’s normal, Specs. But yeah, sounds pretty much like a crush to me. You really should try actually talking to him. If I can give a random customer my number, pretty sure a random customer can hit on the owner.”

“Hit on? I’ve been expressing to you that I find Patton endearing and attractive, why would I suddenly hurt him?”

“Wow, slang that I actually understand better than someone. This is new,” Virgil chuckled. “‘Hit on’ means... Uh, mack on? No, no, wrong decade for that. Umm... Say cute things to. Flirt with. In other words, actually talk to, not just ask for a muffin and then glance over fifty times a day.” Virgil smirked. “Also, you said Patton is endearing and attractive. See, I was right, it’s a crush.”

“You’ve - ah - noticed that. I see. Has… has Patton noticed that, as well? I do not wish to appear… creepy.”

“I don’t think he has, you’re good.”

“Would it be appropriate to just… sit in the bakery, and wait for him to come talk to me?” Logan was fidgeting with his tie, looking over at the bright couches.

“You could, but… Patton thinks you’ve been avoiding him. He might not talk to you because he thinks you want space.”

“He… what? Avoiding?” Logan put his face in his hands, messing up his carefully brushed hair. “But I was only avoiding him because the only things I can think of to say when I’m around him are just. Illogical. And unintelligent. Not to mention embarrassing.”

“What do you mean? Do you just stare into his eyes and feel a sudden urge to say ‘do you wanna put your mouth on my mouth?!’ or…”

Logan blushed. “While that would certainly not be unpleasant, no, it’s worse. Whenever he smiles at me all I can think of are _really bad puns._ ”

Virgil couldn’t help it. He snorted, and the snort turned into full laughter.

Logan blushed harder. “I know, it is ridiculous and unhelp-”

“No, nonono, that’s not why,” Virgil said through giggles. “No, my dude, that is perfect. Just say the puns. I honestly cannot think of a better way to get Patton to like you. Swear on my life.”

Logan pondered this, his blush not quite fading. He glanced over at the bakery, where Patton was now waving at the toddler and father as they left. He glanced back at Virgil, his brows knit with worry. Virgil nudged him with what he hoped was a comforting smile.

Logan took a deep breath, fixed his hair, and adjusted his tie. Then he stood and walked over to the bakery counter, where Patton waited with his perpetual smile.

Virgil snuck a bit closer to eavesdrop.

“Good morning, um, Patton, right? Could I get another Jam-Packed Muffin?”

“You betcha!”

“And, uh, might I just say… these muffins are _berry_ good?”

Virgil peeked around the corner in time to see Patton’s eyes light up and his smile grow even wider.

“Glad to hear my baking efforts haven’t been _fruitless!_ ”

Virgil swallowed his own laugh as he went back to the cafe counter.

Yeah, those two would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 9 intentional references in word or image to Sides/Thomas videos in this one and I have no regrets


	11. Flashback: Help This Nerd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Approximately 500 years before the present day, a familiar sorcerer is deeply engaged in his studies.

**Flashback: late 1490s into early 1500s CE, near the Ural mountains**

The seventh child of a seventh child. From the moment of his birth, Septimus had been guaranteed to be powerful in the ways of magic. But neither his parents nor his siblings had expected him to be a _sorcerer._

After all his years in the continents’ best university, with all the acclaim he’d acquired, he still wished he had been born just a plain wizard, like all his colleagues and classmates. But when he had heard of a young sorcerer, newly arrived and seeking an apprenticeship, one who’d been turned down with the same wariness that Septimus himself had faced, he had known he had to do something.

Not for the first time did he wish the stigma wasn’t so strong. Sorcereri weren’t even a separate race from wizards. The only outwardly-discernible difference was golden or partially golden eyes. Septimus knew this particular trait stood out more in him than others - bright golden streaks through royal blue eyes were rather noticeable. He hadn’t actually needed the horn-rimmed glasses he wore until his third year of study, when staring at scrolls for hours on end had finally degraded his sight. The flash of the golden rims were a suitable distraction for many, especially if they hadn’t already heard of him.

By the current point in his career, luckily, people knew him for his deeds and accolades, not a quirk of birth.

Ever since he was a child, Septimus had been imbued with a healthy respect and fear for his own magical power. Unlike wizards, his ability hadn’t needed intense study and training to be vast and powerful. As a sorcerer, he had been born a natural conduit, able to channel ambient magic from his surroundings without needing to summon it from within himself. But study helped him modulate how carefully he conducted magic, and how effectively and efficiently he was able to use it. Plus, through study and knowledge he was able to _control_ it.

He would never forget the fear in his mother’s eyes when he’d had a temper tantrum at five years old. He forgot _why_ he’d been so upset, but just as he began to wail, a lightning bolt flashed from a cloudless sky to strike a sapling in their front yard. The poor plant had been split in two as it burst into flames. His mother had stepped back carefully, both hands out, eyes wide, speaking quietly like he was a bear or a monster about to attack. He’d overheard his brothers and siblings muttering about moving away, or sending him away to a secure location. That was the day he resolved to never again let his emotions get the best of him. He would be master of himself and his magic.

And he’d been successful. He’d learned meditation, calming techniques, anything that worked to keep himself stable and unemotional. Through studying these techniques, he’d learned how much a magical education might help him. At eleven, he’d convinced his father to send him to university. The wariness in the headmaster’s eyes had been apparent even then, but he did not allow himself to become self-conscious or self-doubting. He was there to learn.

Now, in his mid-twenties, Septimus the Azure was a prodigy, a proud graduate of the university and star in the field of magical research. His treatise on uses of dragon’s blood in potion-making, written while he was still a student, had become world-famous in magical circles. He was the youngest professor the university had ever had, and by far the youngest to be allowed his own laboratory and study in the university’s Tower. He had earned every bit of it, fighting every inch to be taken seriously for his demonstrated academic prowess and regimented use of magic, not his vast natural ability.

He’d thought maybe he’d need to contend with jealousy, but at least within the university, his potential power was seen as a literal threat to the lives of those around him, not as an ability to be desired or sought. Magical power, the thinking went, ought be earned through rigorous study and practice alone. And so that was what Septimus had done.

He sat up from his desk, where he’d been using an enormous magnifying glass to read records from ancient fairy colonies. The minuscule size of the tomes had deterred generations of wizards from learning about the tiny creatures, but Septimus was determined to change that.

Ah, that reminded him. He needed a scroll for reference. He stood, looking for his newly-chosen apprentice. The younger sorcerer had appeared starstruck when Septimus had introduced himself and asked him to come work with him. And he was a very hard worker, which Septimus appreciated. He just couldn’t remember his name. Guido? Petrarch? Something from the south of the continent. It would come to him, if he really needed it.

“Apprentice?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you find me the second volume of the _Anthology of Fae Colonies and Lineages_? It should be in the third case, fourth or fifth shelf. Near the _Codex of Fairy Circles._ ”

“Of course, Master Septimus.”

Moments later, the apprentice had lugged over the several-pound tome to Septimus’ reading desk. It was his favorite invention, despite its simple nature, and it was entirely in tune with his particular frequency of magic. A large wooden wheel spun gently, each of its flat paddles holding a scroll or book open, each able to be pulled down onto his writing desk for better examination, or use with the fold-out magnifying glass. At any moment, he could call out a key phrase or word and the wheel would glow, moving the reference book most relevant to his request to be more easily viewed. He placed the fairy tome onto a paddle and secured it with the magical prongs that both held it in place as well as scanned its text to function with the spell. He prepared to delve back into his studies, but his apprentice was still looking at him.

He supposed the correct thing to do would be engage. The slightly-younger man _had_ been working for him for a week now.

“Did you need something?”

“I was just wondering - could you tell me what your current project is?” the younger man asked, gold-and-brown eyes hopeful.

Septimus would normally have resented any interruption, but that flame in his eye was too familiar - the burning desire to _learn._

“Of course. Have a seat, Apprentice,” he offered, before realizing every chair was covered in scrolls or books. Hiding a blush, he gestured crisply, and a royal blue light lifted them back into orderly stacks on the small shelves by his desks.

“Now. What have you learned in lectures about the lives of the fae folk, known colloquially as fairies?”

His apprentice sat and straightened to attention, the same movement required by most of Septimus’ colleagues and former teachers.

“They live in colonies of approximately fifty to two hundred, usually separated by large physical distances from one another, but are all considered family or kin. There do not appear to be any actual nuclear families, at least in part due to lack of sex or gender. Their society is highly hierarchical, with councils of Elders making decisions for each colony, including magical assignments,” the student said, speaking with his eyes partially closed as he recited. “In the past, fae folk had strong ties with humanity through the Godparent relationship, with a single fairy being assigned to a single human who usually has some fate or grand potential, or a particularly tragic existence. However, new reports of Godparent relationships in the last two centuries have been few and far between.”

Septimus nodded. “You’re clearly a dedicated student. Well done. Have your professors offered any reasons for the declining reports?”

His apprentice went to scratch his head, then caught himself and held his hands in his lap. “Only speculations. Professor Umber suggested there may have been an incident between humans and fairies that have made them less inclined to help. Professor Junipera believes that the fae colonies have simply been more subdued, finding less prominent humans to aid. But they don’t know for sure, that much is clear, no matter how confident they sound in their assertions.”

“Ah, you’ve learned the most important lessons of university,” Septimus said with a wry grin. “that is, how to see and hear through the academic babble. But it’s true - we are not sure why the number of Godparent reports have appeared to decrease. However, I believe our framing is the issue. It may be that the number of Godparents has decreased because the _number of fairies_ has decreased. They live for many centuries, possibly as long as a millennium. But they do age, and die of age. It is very possible that the fae folk are aging out, without enough young fairies being born to take their place.”

His apprentice was shocked. “I… that’s possible? For magical beings to… die out?”

Septimus was somber yet measured in his response. “I do not know for sure. We have no recorded instances of such a thing. But I believe it may be occurring before our very eyes. As other populations grow, magical folk and creatures may be just as at risk of extinction as are non-magical animals. I myself found that, at least due to crowding of their natural habitats, dragons are becoming harder to find. Getting enough variety of dragons’ blood for my research to be able to generalize my findings to the genus as a whole… well. The particular pitfalls of my methodology are not relevant. The point is, I do think there is a not-infinitesimal chance that the fae folk are disappearing. If any knowledge of their history and culture is to be preserved, it must be done now, while the primary source still exists. That is what my current research focuses on - compiling what records we already have and seeking answers to those gaps in our existing knowledge.”

“Master Septimus, if you think such a thing is possible and happening now, why not do something to stop it? Don’t we have an obligation to our fellow magical beings to preserve their species?” the young sorcerer asked curiously, with a slight hint of indignation.

The sorcerer leaned back, fingertips touching in a tent as he considered the question. “I… don’t know that it would even be _possible_ to reverse the trend, if such a trend exists. Nor do I know that it would be our place to interfere. To meddle in the process of reproduction, for another species no less! Not only do I worry about the ethical implications, but fairies are intensely private when it comes to the exact locations of their colonies and their inner workings. What documents we have here are mostly due to particularly studious Godchildren who convinced their Godparents to document their experiences and history. I would not presume to approach a fairy colony and insert myself into their population issues. No, my role is that of a historian. I will do what I can to preserve their story and culture for posterity, so that future generations may be educated if the fae should ever truly disappear.”

The young man looked down, clearly upset. “Master… could such a thing happen to us? To… sorcerers?”

“I… am unsure. So little is known about us, and how exactly we come to be. We are not a separate species from wizards, and the offspring of two sorcerers are not always sorcerers in turn. We are… anomalies. But regularly-recurring ones. And you and I both know that we are much more than merely flukes.”

Two pairs of gold-marked eyes met, one kind, the other determined.

“Thank you, Master Septimus. For explaining, but also for taking me on, and not treating me like a… liability.”

“Of course. I’ve been in your shoes, or pairs that looked a lot like them. And you can call me just Septimus if you wish.”

“Thank you, Mas- Septimus. And if you want, you can just call me Dante,” he replied with an impish grin.

“I will do so, Dante. Do let me know if there are any other burning questions I can answer for you. Even if you just need someone to vent to.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five years passed. Dante continued his studies at the university, taking after his mentor in his ability to push past the professors’ and fellow students’ assumptions about sorcery. Unlike his mentor, he found that his personality could be an equal asset to his academic achievement, charming his way through the stone towers and sneaking his way to just the right spots for opportunities and recognition.

He burst into Septimus’ tower laboratory one day, black hair flopping excitedly as he raced to greet his mentor and friend.

“TIMUS! Is it true? I go south for two months for fieldwork and you’ve suddenly acquired a new magical artifact?”

Septimus rose from his desk to embrace the younger man, ruffling his dark curls. His young friend was very particular about his appearance these days, but his mentor was the one person allowed to see him at anything less than perfectly coiffed. “Apologies, Dante, I should have known better and saved all my arcane acquisitions for your return. How was the Harz?”

“Oh it was excellent, the sprites there were the friendliest I’ve met so far. I got the impression that they’ve a history of more cooperation with other magic folk, but you know sprites - keeping track of history isn’t exactly their strong suit. Why did you let me get myself into such a difficult dissertation topic?”

“Because you were determined to prove me wrong, and you are far too skilled at talking your way out of conversations. Or into them,” Septimus grinned, one arm still around his younger friend. “I’m glad you’re back though - this place always gets a little too sane and complacent without you.”

Dante squeezed him with one arm, a genuine smile on his face. “Missed you too, Timus. But hey,” he interjected suddenly, “you distracted me! I came here to hear about the artifact!”

“Ah yes, of course. The staff. Come here.”

Septimus led his former apprentice and current mentee to his back room, where a table had been dedicated to a long and gnarled piece of wood. It would have looked like any tree branch twisted by an invasive vine if it hadn’t been for the dome of blue fire that surrounded it. Septimus lifted his hands as they began to glow with the same fire. A complex pass of his hands expanded the shield spell to include himself and Dante, who gasped audibly.

“That… aura! What _is_ this thing?” he breathed.

“That’s just it. We’re not sure. The heir from one kingdom over killed Vignar the dragon. This was in his hoard. The victorious prince was bedridden for a month after touching it with his bare hands, thus, I would highly advise you don’t try, not unless you want me to have another nice chat with the headmaster about how I’m _sure_ you’re not going to bring down the Tower on our heads.”

“Point taken,” Dante shuddered. “My stars, the emanations it gives off _without_ contact - the whole school must feel it when it’s outside of this shield.”

“Not quite the whole school. Only those who have a high sensitivity to magic. You know,” he elbowed the younger man, who quirked a smile back. “The absolute oldest faculty, and us. Thus, it lives here, where I’ll sense any disturbance more quickly. Plus, I have the magical reserves to spend on keeping the spell up.”

Dante shivered. “You know I trust you far more than any of these graybeards anyway. Ugh, it’s going to give me a headache, can you close down the shield?”

Septimus nodded and reversed his gesture, re-linking thumbs and forefingers into his chest, passing palm over palm, and sending the fire back to a dense bubble once more.

“So. Theories of origin? You have at _least_ one, I know you do,” Dante said with a grin.

Septimus cleared his throat. “Well, yes, actually. Based on what we know of Vignar’s life and raids, it appears that any sort of magical artifact of this caliber would be from one of the universities on the other side of the world, or from the sprites. And since we have communicated with our sibling institutions and they have only guesses at best, the sprites do seem to somehow have been the origin of this artifact. And yes,” he said, putting up a hand to stop Dante’s squawk of indignation, “before you ask, I was always going to show you the staff and share this exact theory. I would never willfully interfere in your dissertation, you know this. Which brings me to the disconcerting element.”

The two sorcerers settled back into Septimus’ study, a floating teapot zooming over from the hearth to fill their favorite mugs as the elder sorcerer continued.

“From my experimentation and that of the senior wizards here, we can find no purpose for this staff. There’s no affiliation with an element, or a certain frequency of spell. It doesn’t even appear to need a magically-abled being to wield it - the human prince was able to somehow fire an inadvertent blast of power before the magical aura knocked him out. An object with such raw, unfocused power being created intentionally seems unlikely. My hypothesis is that the staff, as we see it now, is not finished. This was not the intended final form. There was a final step or ritual not performed that would stabilize its magic in one direction or with one intention. And that means that its current level of power would be multiplied many times over in its final state.”

Dante gave a long, low whistle. “Can you imagine? That kind of power - that’s the kind of thing Mordred would have had wet dreams over.”

Septimus shuddered. “Yes, I know. Thank the stars he never knew of it. He could have ended the world or ruled it with just a gesture. Which is why I keep the staff safe.”

“Have you been researching what the intended purpose could be?”

“I would be content with definitively knowing its origins. If I knew more about its creation, I’d be able to deconstruct it, or at least stabilize the power to safer levels.”

“Really, Timus, you are no fun at all,” Dante drawled. “You see the sharpest sword in the world and think immediately ‘oh, gotta blunt that.’ Not even an itty-bitty daydream of world domination?”

Septimus chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I’d never do such a thing. I’d hate to deprive you.”

“Say, Septimus - could I research it as part of my dissertation? Its origins, I mean. I’ve been struggling with a real focus to my research - it’s hard to know what questions to ask when the sprites are all so scattered.”

“You know what? That would be brilliant. This is why you make me so proud to be your advisor,” Septimus said. “But more importantly, I’m proud to call you my friend.” Dante ducked his head and flushed lightly. Timus had long ago stopped feeling like just a mentor. He was his most trusted friend at this university certainly, not to mention in the world.

“If I’m a great scholar, I owe it to my fine instruction, and the support of the best friend a sorcerer could ask for,” Dante returned warmly.

They toasted each other with their mugs of tea and settled in for the afternoon’s studies.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Septimus was worried. About several things, but mostly Dante.

He should have been pleased - after ten long years, the man’s dissertation was complete, and he’d single-handedly provided the strongest evidence so far that the staff was indeed of sprite origin. He’d cracked the question of “which kind of sprite” by showing that all four tribes - fire, tree, water, and ground - had convened once in their history, and that this was likely the moment of the staff’s creation.

Septimus was incredibly proud of his friend. But… every time the young man walked into Septimus’ tower study of late, there was shadow that flitted over his face. Only ever briefly - but it was like a mask was being taken off, if only for the space of a breath. And there were lines of tension in his shoulders that one would never notice unless they were lucky enough to ever see him fully relax. The charm offenses had become louder and more aggressive as Dante prepared to defend his dissertation and earn his title from the university. So, too, had the convenient conversations and ‘casual’ drop-bys to the highest-ranked members of the faculty. Only those close to him - so, only Septimus - could hear the rough edge in his voice as he spoke to those who would decide whether over ten years of study, from green newcomer to full apprentice to practically a full-time researcher, would yield any concrete title or achievements.

Septimus had even heard the edge when Dante spoke to _him_. Mentioning other magical races seemed to snap the taut rope that was the young man’s composure. Like the previous afternoon. Septimus had merely mentioned a successful interview with a fae Elder, an elderly but delightful creature who he’d found in a human bakery, to which they had apparently been devoted for generations.

“Glad you were able to write down their name before they collapse into pixie dust,” Dante had muttered.

“Dante, you know I’m just trying to do my best. And Baxter shared some fascinating information - the fae lifespans themselves are shrinking. They themself are only eight hundred years old but already starting to wither, when in generations past they would have expected to live one or two hundred years more. They aren’t sure why but they are spreading the word of my research so that the fae will never be entirely forgotten.”

“Septimus, how are you able to do this? To see them literally withering before your eyes and to do nothing?”

“Dant, there is nothing for me to do. These are forces beyond my control, beyond anyone’s control. Maybe this is just natural selection.”

“Yeah and maybe _we’ll_ be next to be naturally selected out. And you know what?” The man’s golden-streaked eyes flashed in anger, the gold burning brighter in his fury as he gestured to the Tower around them. “This whole pile of stones, all these empty hats, they would let sorcerers die out tomorrow and breath a sigh of relief when we did, if they hadn’t been the reason in the first place.”

“Dante, we’ve been over this: sorcerers appear so randomly that there would be nothing any of our colleagues could do to help or hinder such an occurrence.”

“ **Your** colleagues. They haven’t accepted me yet. And if they do, it will be because you, their great prodigy Septimus the Azure, convinced them that sorcerers can be worth the risk, not because they’ve accepted we’re no more or less dangerous than wizards.”

“I… yes. I know that. But won’t it be worth it, to have _two_ sorcerers accepted? This is how we continue to pave the way for those after us. We’ll slowly bend their minds towards reason.”

Dante growled. “Unless the magical world dies off as we wait for them to accept us. And don’t pretend we don’t both know the cause.”

“We know nothing for sure. We can only hypothe-”

“It’s those thrice-damned _humans_ and you know it,” Dante interrupted angrily. “They have not an ounce of magic in their blood, and they are spreading across the world like a disease. They cut down enchanted forests, kill dragons, crush fairy colonies… They are what is causing our world to shrink.”

Septimus stayed silent. There was no proof that humans actions were directly causing this, true, but the correlation was disturbingly high.

“I don’t care if it’s unpleasant to admit, but will we all just wait until they’ve arrived on our doorstep?” Dante continued. “Until they come pouring in to smash our astrolabes and burn our spellbooks? Do we even have a plan besides ‘wait?’”

“I’ve… floated the idea of cooperation. There could be a collaboration of sorts reached - let them know of the existence of magic and invite them to study it with us,” Septimus said quietly, fiddling with his glasses, golden rims glinting in the light of the hearth fire.

“And you’ve been turned down without a second thought, because the headmaster and his cronies hate the idea of sharing,” Dante sneered. “Their reasoning is dragonshit, as always, but their conclusion is right. Timus - if we go public with humans, you know it won’t be magic they’ll study. It will be **us**. They’ll be leeching us and cutting us up before we can say ‘I mean no harm.’ They fear what they don’t understand, and the more magic creatures disappear, the less they understand any of us.”

Septimus made eye contact, trying, _willing_ Dante to understand. “Them fearing what they don’t understand is _exactly_ why I want to reach out. If we plan it carefully, we won’t be a threat to them. I really believe there’s hope for peaceful coexistence, if we approach them with caution.”

Dante looked away, a vein shifting in the hard lines of his clenched jaw. At length, he replied, “I hope you’re right, Septimus. I really do. But I strongly suspect you’re wrong.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Septimus felt like he’d been waiting for just this moment for years.

The jolt of alarm, bringing him entirely out of a sound sleep. Running from his bedroom to his laboratory. Hearing the faint sounds of the senior professors stirring. Arriving at his study and backroom to see the aftermath.

The staff was gone. The magic aura was somewhere close. But it radiated so much power it was impossible to pinpoint where it was, particularly if it was indeed, as he feared, in the hands of a sorcerer.

Had he known that this would happen? Should he have taken more care to disguise the unlocking spell?

Perhaps.

But his hope had gotten the best of him.

Dante had disappeared for several months, almost a year. Research, he’d said. Only he’d finally finished his defense, and been officially named a graduate of the university and given his new title: Dante the Golden. What research would he need to be doing? And why wouldn’t he tell his oldest friend and mentor when he’d be back?

 _Because he didn’t want me to know,_ Septimus thought sadly. _He knows that, whatever he plans now, I would not approve, nor would I let him go forward unimpeded. At least, I hope I wouldn't._

He closed his eyes, trying to sense the epicenter of the staff’s emanations. Just as he started to feel the tug of a direction, the feeling vanished. The staff had been magically shielded once more, by another’s magic.

Septimus sat down hard in his study chair, head in hands. He massaged his own temples, and hoped against hope that his former student and dearest friend hadn’t made a horrible mistake, the likes from which he might never recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Septimus: Latin origin, means “born seventh/seventh son or child” 
> 
> There were a lot of world-building details and magical mechanics, particularly about the staff, that I couldn’t find a way to fit in here or anywhere else, and the chapter is already about twice as long as I originally planned (whoops)  
> But if you’re the kind of person who is into that, message me over at @rosesisupposes on tumblr and I will happily spill.


	12. He'sss Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is still in the glow of watching his friends flirt. But that chance encounter was never going to just pass by entirely

Walking to the cafe the next morning, Virgil was deep in happy thought. He was happy for Logan and Patton, and happier still as he remembered he’d probably see Roman today. He always worried about the future, but just now there were so many good possibilities that involved him. He couldn’t remember the last time that was true.

Suddenly, a “Psssst!” from an alley just off the street startled him into the present. His eyes caught on shiny snakeskin loafers and dragged up black slacks and a black button-down, hemmed and accented in gold thread. He met a pair of familiar brown eyes with scattered gold streaks throughout and gulped. _It’s him._ The sorcerer had found him again.

“Sorry for the suddennesss, I’ve been trying to find you for two days straight,” the man said with a crooked smile. If he hadn’t been so worried about the sorcerer’s intentions, Virgil might have swooned at that smile - the sorcerer was still as undeniably attractive as he’d been in that seashore grotto all those years ago. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself before - I’m Dante.”

“Um. Hello. Is this about crashing into you? I’m really sorry, it was an accident…”

“No, no, not at all. That’s old news,” the man chuckled, casually waving a hand that held a smoldering cigarette. “The real news is that you are a Sage, and I’m a ssorcerer.”

Virgil stared at him, wide-eyed. _Oh Thiota’s tears, he did recognize me._

“I, uh, don’t know what you’re, um, talking about…” he stammered, looking down.

“I get it, you’re nervouss. You’ve been hiding, and so few could possibly understand. But that’s why I wanted to find you. Because _I_ understand.” Dante was still smiling, friendly. His voice was light yet earnest. He took a slow drag of his cigarette. Virgil blinked, unsure how to react. Had he judged the man too quickly? Had the sorcerer reformed his ways since Virgil had last encountered him? But if he had, why would the glimpse of his destiny that Virgil had seen still point to self-interest and plotting?

“I… you do? I mean. Um. What do you understand?” It was a not a great day for Virgil and coherency.

Dante sighed. “I know it’s sscary to admit. But from the minute we ran into each other the other day, I knew you were like me – out of our natural time and place. Out of our element. Here we both are living in this modern, mundane world – and you and I both know neither of us iss mundane. And I may be mistaken but – I think I know you, Sage. I’ve met you before, in a past form. Your name wass once Zephyr, correct?”

Virgil met the other man’s eyes directly for the first time in this surprising interaction. Dante certainly didn’t seem to be angry or attempting to threaten him. And playing fully ignorant clearly hadn’t worked. But he’d still rather not give up any more information than what Dante already knew.

“Yes, I was Zephyr, centuries ago. You seem to be familiar with my power. Have I divined for you before?”

Dante’s smile morphed into a wry grin. “Yes, you did. And like any great Sage, your riddle always had the chance end badly for me. The choicess weren’t on my side, that time.” He shrugged philosophically and took another drag. “The real downside was the backlash of the ritual, and the change it had on my form. It took me 500 years to shift back into something thiss human. And clearly, I’m not perfect.”

Virgil had thought he was imagining the added sibilance of the sorcerer’s words right up until he saw Dante flick a forked tongue at him with a wink. Suddenly, he wondered about those snakeskin ‘shoes’.

“But that’s why I’m so glad to have found you,” Dante continued. “I’ve been hoping to find more like uss. The magic folk. I know there musst be more of us in the world still. I tried visiting the spritess out in their hideaways but they’ve given up on the public life entirely. Only the renegades and runawayss are left, and they live as human.”

Virgil shrugged. “Of course they’re in hiding. The world has moved on from us magical beings. Humanity has achieved so much with their own ingenuity and technology – they don’t need us to conjure or divine anymore. For this life, I’ve been living as just a regular human. It’s been so much _nicer_ than my old lives of solitude and visions. Humanity has several…” He blushed faintly, thinking of Roman’s teasing smile. “…perks.”

Dante seemed shocked. “But… we could do so much more! Yes, technology has advanced but jusst imagine what we magic folk could do to push it further! And well. We’re not _like_ them. We can do more, ssee more, _be_ more. Why would you want to hide that? It’s bad enough to think of how much has already been losst.” Another exhale of cigarette smoke morphed into a tiny dragon, flapping its wings and blowing clouds until it dissipated in the breeze. A second drag produced a life-size fairy that flittered and waved at Virgil before floating off into nothingness. A vise squeezed around his heart, thinking of old friends now long, long gone.

“Maybe we’d help. Maybe we’d get in the way. Maybe we’d hurt them all accidentally. Or maybe they’d hurt us,” Virgil sighed. “I’m not sure what would happen, but I do know that I’m _tired._ I just want to live out this attempt at humanity and rejoin my family in the ether. They say the passage of time is meaningless there, and I’ve had enough lifetimes for any existence at this point.”

“That… I ssuppose I understand. Waiting through the ages iss…difficult” Dante looked up and past Virgil’s head, a bleak and empty look in his eyes, “I suppose it would be rude of me to assk you do continue to endure. I had just hoped…” A new look flitted across Dante’s face. Uncertainty? Disappointment? It was replaced by determination as he tossed his cigarette to the ground and snuffed it. “I won’t bother you further, then, unlesss you seek me out. But before I go, I must ask you. _Sage, I entreat you, tell me my desstiny._ ”

Virgil blanched. The invocation. Of course Dante remembered the exact phrase to compel a Sage to act. Virgil couldn’t deny Dante’s request without risking his very existence. Seeing the steely resolve in Dante’s eyes, Virgil could tell the sorcerer remembered that perfectly, and knew exactly what he was doing. He hadn’t reformed his ways at all. The last bit of hope Virgil had clung to vanished.

He took a deep breath, and in a voice thick and stilted with anger followed the script he knew by heart. “Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

The sorcerer did not resist the urge to smirk as he replied, “I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

If he was going to have to see the man’s future, again, he wanted his own answers. Virgil grasped Dante’s arms and looked not forward, but back.

The sorcerer had been telling the truth about some things, at least. He’d taken only a couple of years from his first future-telling to put his plan into motion, and his recovery had been just over 500 years in the works. But what had the ambitious man done that had led to his downfall? Could it be used against him? What would Virgil be able to see?

_A flash of golden light lights the dark room. The space is incredibly familiar - Dante makes his way through obstacles with barely any thought given. Past dark shapes to a smaller room, lit only by an orb of azure fire. He loops his fingers and twist them in a complex gesture, and the fire disperses entirely, revealing a wooden staff that throws off waves of pure energy. His heart hammers as he reaches for it, his own magic pulsing in time with the raw power of the sprite-staff. As his hand makes contact, the magic **sings** to him, a high keening that whispers of possibilities to make or mar the world as a whole. He can force every inhabitant to do as he bids, or tear this world down and build a new one in his place. It will be just as easy as snapping his fingers - all he will need are the final rituals to bring the staff to its full potential. He remembers the lie he was able to conceal from his dissertation - from the faculty, from the headmaster, even from Septimus. The staff was not intended to be tied to just one ritual or purpose. No, its creation at the hands of all four sprite tribes means there are  four rituals, each of one tribe’s old gods, each uniting the full power of those tribes into the staff. Once he’s finished, he will be able to control nearly everything - water, fire, ground, and green life._

_Time blurs. Dante has visited the petrified wood altar of the tree sprites, deep in a secluded wood; the pearly altar of the water sprites at the bottom of the sea; the sliced stalagmite altar of the ground sprites in a deep cave. Now he climbs a volcano, approaching the stone altar of the fire sprites. One final ritual, and his power will be cemented. Soon, he will be able to limit and reverse the spread of humanity across this planet, and magical creatures from fairies to dragons will acknowledge him as their savior and master. He reaches the top the volcano, where long-since cooled lava created a natural altar. There is a faint humming as the staff nears its final destination. The humming grows louder as he places it in the grooves of the stone and begins the final binding spell. It takes both power and concentration, but Dante has plenty of both to spare. So deeply is he engrossed in the workings of the spell that he doesn’t note the growing heat under his feet until he smells scorched leather. Opening his eyes, he blanches. The rock he is standing on is melting slowly back into lava. He whirls around to see a tiny fire sprite sending pulse after pulse of magic heat into the rock below them. Dante is torn - if he casts a spell now to protect himself from the heat, the ritual will be disrupted. But the power is too tempting. If he hurries, and pours even more of his own magic into it, he might just finish before he gets scorched. He is sweating from the exertion and the heat around him, but he can at last feel the ritual nearing completion._

_The staff is too bright to look at directly, the essence of heat dripping out of the altar to twine around its no-longer-wooden form. Tiny points of searing pain erupt on his back. The sprite is throwing fireballs at him now, ruining his concentration. “Cease, you interfering pest! Know you not that I bring your world salvation? Who are you to interrupt me?” Dante rasps out. “My name is Flame,” the sprite says. “And I don’t believe that you intend to save anyone but yourself.” The fireballs continue and the heat cooks his flesh as Dante stares, then shudders in mirthless laughter. This was part of his destiny, of course._ “The world will turn to Flame.” _Mordred’s mercy on that damned Sage. Dante’s laughter is thin and high, becoming more and more of a wheeze as the effort of so many spells saps him. He releases the ritual spell and redoubles his heat protection, but his energy is flickering and his flesh is burning. He needs tougher skin, less surface area to burn. He needs to survive. His body shudders and twists as he curls in on himself. But the curling continues long past what the normal limit should be. He cowers from the flames and feels them recede, but they keep receding. No, he is shrinking. Cramps spasm through his smooth muscles and scales as Dante the adder writhes on hot stone. Flame the sprite regards him curiously, then traps his snake-form in a floating cage of fire. There is nothing to do but hiss angrily as the altar becomes lava once more, consuming the sprite-staff and all its potential power._

Virgil brought himself back to the present, shuddering. Living through others’ lives had never been quite so disturbing. His shoulders felt cramped from having lived Dante’s serpentine transformation. And he still had an obligation to look into the man’s future, thanks to the ever-helpful Law of Sages. With an internal groan, he let himself fall into his power once more.

He’d seen this future once before, but hadn’t had to look as deeply through the particular choices. Now, he fought back the urge to cry or vomit as he saw the devastation that Dante was all too willing and ready to enact. The man had no qualms whatsoever if it meant he could bring back magical beings - even if that required other beings, like humans or animals, to perish. Virgil could see many ways that Dante would succeed but just as many where he would fail. There was Roman, in every one of those failures, interfering somehow. Now his eyes were definitely stinging. Here, Roman accidentally tripped over Dante in a crucial moment, ruining his concentration. There, he deliberately tackled the glowering man as he prepared to cast a destruction spell, or access a database of genetic code, or leech the lifeforce out of a human into a tiny, winged corpse. But worst of all were the futures in which Roman charged the sorcerer only to be struck fatally with a casual bolt of magic, or those where he was among the crowds of humans penned and shackled under Dante’s rule. Virgil searched into the near future - where was the critical juncture? Was there one moment that made this all avoidable? Sweet Pythia, there was. Thank the stars.

A Sage in the midst of foretelling was a channel for a magic as ancient as life itself. They spoke not with their own voice, nor with their form’s body, but with the echoes of past and future Sages, of deep caverns and mountain peaks. Virgil opened his mouth and released Dante’s second fortune.

_“Your triumph can only be deterred by the inadvertent prints.”_

The minute his connection to the magic faded, he pulled his hands away. Dante was grinning.

“I know there will be a trick again. There’s alwayss a trick. Sorry – _choice,_ ” he sneered. “A posssibility of failure. But this time I won’t be caught off guard.” He noticed Virgil’s glare and sighed. “I know, I know, that was rude. I’d say I’m ssorry, but well. I’m not. But I did mean it when I said I won’t bother you anymore. Not unless you want me to.” He winked, and walked out of the alley, humming to himself as he lit another cigarette.

Virgil rubbed his hands against his hoodie, wishing the feeling of complicity could be scraped off. Yes, there was breathing room hidden in how similar-sounding ‘prints’ was to ‘Prince,’ but his heart was still sinking in his chest. Now that he knew Dante’s full design, and had given him a warning, albeit obscure… Mother _Shipton,_ he was going to have to tell Roman. Wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look, more homophone jokes! it’s almost like that was the secret motivation for this entire story and it… got away from me.
> 
> holy SMOKES: there is now art of the initial scene! https://rosesisupposes.tumblr.com/post/178297836704/tell-me-my-destiny-the-amazing-and-wondrous  
> credit to the lovely, perfect, amazing @residentanchor


	13. Advice from Glasses Nerds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is conflicted. Luckily, he knows just who can help.

The morning had been a complete and utter mess.

Virgil and Gilda’s careful truce was utterly ruined whenever Virgil was distracted, and _sweet Sybill_ was he distracted the rest of that day. His black hoodie was a mess with steamed milk and flavored syrup stains, and he was pretty sure coffee grounds were, well, _ground_ into his sleeve and never coming out.

The one saving grace was that the sorcerer had caused him to be late today, so Roman hadn’t seen him looking like a mess of a somewhat-human-being. Remy had informed him with far too much glee that Roman had looked disappointed when he’d come in to see Virgil missing, and that Remy had flirted extra hard to make up for it.

If he hadn’t already been a mess of indecision and worry, Virgil would probably have been more annoyed by that. As it was, he was much more worried that he was going to get Roman hurt than whether he’d ever text him.

Remy was about to sail upstairs to sleep when he looked Virgil up and down, frowning.

“Boi, you are a _mess_. What has happened to your clothes?”

“I blame Gilda.”

“How dare you, she has done nothing wrong, ever, in her life. Here, you’re not my size, but I think you’re Antony’s. This should fit you.”

His boss tossed him a distressed purple t-shirt. Virgil started walking to the back room to change, then stopped. “Wait. Where did this come from, you’ve been downstairs all morning.”

“From the back. Antony… left it there. Last week,” Remy replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing the health inspector is in love with you.”

Remy shrugged. “It’s not my fault I’m the perfect man. Go change, I can’t have you besmirching the aesthetic of How You Brewin’. We have a _very_ attractive reputation to maintain.”

Virgil wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was very grateful for the shirt. It was hard to clean up the mess that was his thoughts when his entire appearance was a mess too. And to be honest, he dug the purple.

Feeling just a bit better, he made it through the rest of morning and early afternoon without any more spills. But he was still conflicted. What should he do about Dante’s destiny? He’d never been connected to a seen future in any way, let alone been ~~infatuated with~~ _friendly with_ a pivotal actor in that future. Who would he even ask for advice? It’s not like Sages had parents.

But he wasn’t most Sages, he realized. There was someone who actually did call him ‘son.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He made his way over to the bakery and saw, with a warm bubble of pride, that Logan was leaning against the side of the counter as he chatted with Patton, who was glazing pastries and smiling even larger than normal. It seemed that the happy resolution of months of mutual pining was constant conversation and flirting.

“Hey, if I’m interrupting I can come back later - I just need Patton’s advice on something,” he offered as he approached the counter.

Patton looked up at Logan, who smiled, still a little tentative and embarrassed, and said “Not a problem. I can leave you alone to consult.”

“Actually,” Virgil interrupted, “you can stay if you want. I… have a bit of an odd situation, and two perspectives would probably be better than one. Unless you have work to do.”

Logan rubbed his neck. “I probably do have work I could be doing, but now I’m intrigued. I will gladly assist if I’m able to do so.”

Virgil nodded and pulled himself up onto one of Patton’s only clean baking benches.

“Kiddo, I can get you a stool, you don’t need to sit up there…”

“Pat, I appreciate the offer, but right now I am too overwhelmed to worry about what is or what isn’t a chair,” he muttered, his anxiety heightening as he tried to think of how he’d explain his predicament. He wasn’t quite ready to tell them both that he was an ageless magical being.

“So. Um. I have a bit of an issue, but it’s kind of… private? It involves some sensitive details I don’t know that I can share,” he offered, not making eye contact.

“You only need to share as much as you want to, kiddo,” Patton said kindly, pulling up a stool.

“Unless, of course, the details are so crucial as to make any advice without them useless,” Logan interjected, sitting across from him.

“I hope that’s not the case - here, let’s try a hypothetical. You both know the trolley problem?” Virgil asked.

Logan’s eye widened. “Philippa Foot’s thought experiment? Of course, yes, I suddenly feel much more qualified for this discussion.”

“No, like the meme,” Virgil and Patton said at the same time.

“I… I don’t understand, but go on,” Logan said, lifting his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, so, hypothetically, I know someone who has control of a lever to change the train tracks. He has a choice between an empty rail, and one with several people, whose death will somehow benefit him. Like, uh, the king and the next three in line for the throne before Lever Man. You’re following so far?”

Patton and Logan both nodded, Patton slightly more confused than his darker-haired friend.

“So, hypothetically, Mr. Lever is pretty likely to want to pull the lever towards the people, but there’s a small chance he won’t. He _could_ decide last-minute to be merciful. The only way I know for a fact that he won’t flip the lever is if… um, Superman flies in, and forcibly pushes him to keep the lever on the empty track. But if Supes tries that, there’s a nonzero chance he’ll fall onto the empty track himself and be hit by the train.”

“Well obviously that would be the ideal situation, Superman will survive such a blow easily,” Logan offered.

“Okay, not Superman. Just a regular dude then, I don’t know what to call him…”

“Call him Logan!” Patton said eagerly.

“Um, why me?” Logan asked.

“Cause you’re my hero,” Patton said, smiling. Logan immediately blushed and looked down.

Virgil smirked and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, then tried to pull them both back on track (Heh, _track_. Wait shit, no, he needed to focus. This was what happened when he spent this much time with Patton).

“We’re talking about trains, I’ll call the hero… Thomas. Like the Tank Engine.”

“More like Thomas the _Dank_ Engine”

“Patton, buddy, focus. Okay. So the only person who can guarantee that Mr. Lever won’t kill the royals and become king is Thomas, but Thomas could get hurt or worse in the process. But, there’s also a chance that Mr. Lever will decide to not kill anyone. If I’m the only one who knows this… Do I have an obligation to tell Thomas?”

Logan looked pensive. “Hm. That is an interesting hypothetical. What would happen if you _didn’t_ tell Thomas?”

Virgil thought. “I mean, there’s a chance that he’d still be in a position to stop Mr. Lever anyway, and so there’s a chance he would still be at risk, he would just be unprepared. But there would be an equal chance that he wouldn’t be in the right place at the right time without knowing, so the likelihood of Mr. Lever successfully going through with his plan is pretty high.”

Logan nodded. “And the risk of indeed telling him?”

“Well, best-case scenario, Thomas would choose to stop Mr. Lever, be successful, and not get hurt,” Virgil said with a sigh. “But I know better than to pin all my hopes on that happening. If he knew, and Mr. Lever was merciful on his own, then Thomas has been through a lot of worry and stress for nothing. Or, he could try to stop him and be unsuccessful and get hurt or killed in the process. Or he could be successful in stopping him and _still_ get hurt or killed. Or he could choose to do nothing and feel like a coward for the rest of his life, or he could choose to do nothing and get killed along with the king anyway.” The speed of his words picked up as he listed possibilities, his perpetual internal monologue spilling out into the open like - well, like a runaway train. Those things were dangerous.

Patton put on hand on Virgil’s need and rubbed it reassuringly. “Hey, kiddo, take it easy, okay? Just let yourself relax. None of these things are happening just yet, it’s okay.”

Virgil nodded and took a deep breath, using meditation breathing to calm his elevated heart rate.

“It sounds like a big part of this question is you trying to decide what’s best for Thomas,” Patton continued. “But maybe, just maybe, that’s something he needs to decide for himself.”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Patton makes an excellent point. It seems like there many factors to consider, but only Thomas himself can accurately weigh their relative importance within his own life. The negative result of causing him unnecessary worry is far overshadowed by the other possible negative outcomes.”

Virgil looked at both his friends. Two serious yet supportive expressions looked back from behind matching black frames. “But…” he started

“Hehe, butt,” Patton snorted. “Sorry, go on, big guy!”

“But what if I, personally,” Virgil hesitated, “what if I care a lot for Thomas and don’t want to risk hurting him?”

Patton brightened, clapping his hands. “Awwww my son has a cruuushhhh.”

Logan cleared his throat, carefully looking directly at Virgil and nowhere else. “While I, ah, understand the heightened feelings of worry that go along with feelings of… affection… for someone, you can’t allow that to cloud your judgment here. Yes, you may cause Thomas some distress by telling him what you know, but imagine if the truth came out without your telling him. The most likely outcome would be a feeling of betrayal on his part.”

“You think so?” Virgil asked nervously.

“I know so, kiddo,” Patton answered. “If you really care about him and his well-being, you’ll let him make the choice himself. It may be hard, and yes, there’s a chance that you telling him will also make him feel betrayed. But if you speak from the heart and make it clear that you are only trying to help him to the best of your ability, I think you’ll find he’ll appreciate the effort.”

Virgil sighed, looking back and forth. “Thanks, guys. You’re right. I’m really glad I came to you both.”

Logan smiled. “Anytime, Virgil. And might I advise telling Roman sooner rather than later?”

Virgil blanched. “What? Who said anything about Roman? We were talking about, uh, Thomas, yeah. All hypothetical here.”

“You forget that I’m almost always in the cafe when Roman comes in. Particularly,” Logan smirked, “two days ago, when you spoke to him for several minutes and wrote your number on his coffee cup. I didn’t want to mention it earlier because it wasn’t relevant to the advice, but it was intuitively obvious even to the casual observer.”

Virgil heard a strange, strangled sound and turned to see Patton with both hands over his face, eyes shining with delight. “Ohhhhh that is so cute!!!” the paternal baker squealed.

“I. Um. It’s not really anything yet, and might not be ever, so don’t get your hopes up,” Virgil muttered. “Thanks again for the advice, I’m going to go… hide.”

He slid off the baker’s bench and slunk back to _How You Brewin’_ to start cleaning up for the night.

At least he knew what he needed to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by inspiration from Mind vs Heart and Alone on Valentine’s.
> 
> Also from my undying love for Logicality. Glasses love is the best love.


	14. Interlude: Not Quite Sexting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil gets a text from an unknown number, and makes a plan

Unknown Number: Hellooo this is Roman aka your Prince Charming. Didn’t see you at HYB today

Virgil: oh, sorry, i got held up this morning. did Remy bother you?

Roman: Mr. Sleepless In Seattle? No one could ever bother me when they clearly recognize my enormous charm

V: to be honest, that is a relief  
V: i was nervous you’d think i was creepy

R: You provide me with my daily caffeine needs and work in the cutest café-bakery in town. How could you be creepy?  
R: (Like, come on. They BOTH have puns in their names?)

V: haha fair point. Patton did such a great job with them

R: What? Remy is such a liar, he took all the credit

V: lol typical  
V: he actually used to work for Patton at the bakery  
V: but he kept complaining that the coffee they served was atrocious  
V: (and Patton doesn’t drink it so he barely knew the difference between dark and light roast)

R: It hasn’t always been a bakafé? How did you, the newbie host with the roast, know this, and I didn’t?

V: it was always a coffee shop on that side, the door just wasn’t always opened.  
V: the last owner was Not Great apparently  
V: not friendly, subpar coffee, complained about Patton trying to be friends

R: He insulted Patton?  
R: Did Remy kill him

V: ...  
V: shit probably  
V: i’m gonna just not ask  
V: for plausible deniability

R: Good call  
R: Soooo, you were the one who gave me your number  
R: Was there anything you were hoping I’d do with it?

V: actually there’s something I need to tell you. but it really needs to be in person.

R: Virgil, are you asking me out? ;)

V: no  
V: wait  
V: shit  
V: not that I don’t want to  
V: just that’s not what I meant  
V: did you want me to be?  
V: i will, if you want, but i need to talk to you first  
V: it’s important  
V: shakers’ tears i need to stop talking please stop me

R: You’re such an adorable dork  
R: Let’s get coffee when you’re off work tomorrow. we can talk in the park.  
R: Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll take you up on your other offer too ;)

V: uh yeah that would be cool i guess

R: Which would be cool?

V: um the first one  
V: but uh.  
V: both is good too  
V: we close at 6, will that work for you?

R: Sounds perfect ;)

V: awesome. see you tomorrow

 

Virgil put down the phone, a weight off his chest. He had a plan to tell him now. Plus, Roman had texted him without prompting. And he’d flirted with him!

 _He likes me!_ Virgil thought, flopping backwards onto his couch. _I cannot WAIT to see how I will screw this up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this is a short one. I wanted the next section to be on its own. It’ll be out soon though, so gird your collective loins


	15. Confession Time, Here's What I Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pat and Lo were right, Virgil really did need to tell Roman the whole truth. Here goes nothing. Help.

The next evening, Virgil finished cleaning the café and walked over to the bakery as Roman waited for him. Patton was arms deep in bread dough, but looked up with a warm smile as Virgil came in.

“Hey Patton, I’m leaving, so locking the middle for the night”

“Alright kiddo! Hope it goes well!”

“Thanks, Dad. You’re still sure that sharing is the best thing to do, right?”

Patton paused his kneading and wiped his hands on his apron, coming over to Virgil. “Kiddo, I know you’re nervous. I think what we said stands- if what you know could help someone by just knowing, it’s the kind thing to do to share it. But... I know you wouldn’t have been so secretive unless it was really important. So only you can know the full details, and really know for sure what might happen.”

He reached out and put a comforting if slightly floury hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Virgil. I trust that you’ll do the best you know how. You should trust yourself, too.”

Virgil smiled tentatively. “Thank you, Patton. You’re a good man too. And a good friend.”

The baker made a sound of delight. “Oh my gosh we’re officially friends? Quick, what’s your favorite cake, we need to celebrate. Wait, no, you need to go. You come here first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll guess it right, I promise, you delightful little croissant!”

Virgil smiled and returned to the café, pulling down the dividing door behind him and padlocking it in place. He rejoined Roman past the outside door. “Sorry about the delay. Ready to go?”

They strolled down the sidewalk, chatting about their days and life around town. Virgil couldn’t help looking constantly at the taller man walking beside him as Roman excitedly talked about plans for his theatre company’s upcoming show. Roman’s face was alight as he weighed his options. “I know everyone is expecting me to for Gaston or Lumiere, but imagine if I could be the Beast? The lead! Although I don’t know if I could wear that heavy costume and mask for the whole show. I’d feel so hidden!”

“It would make the reveal to Prince Adam that much more dramatic, wouldn’t it? You know, the climax, the fall from the tower, and then suddenly there’s the dazzlingly handsome Prince smiling at m— at Belle! At Belle, yup.” Virgil flushed slightly. His subconscious really needed to stay in the backseat. He needed to warn Roman, he couldn’t get distracted by flirting!

Unfortunately for his attempted focus, Roman was all too happy to be distracted. “ _Dazzlingly_ handsome? I like that. Is my handsomeness getting in your eyes?” He leaned in front of Virgil’s face, winking.

Virgil blushed harder. How had he been able to speak with sovereign kings and dragons but couldn’t walk three blocks with this man without turning into a nigh-catatonic tomato? “I mean, of course it has. I’ve seen you, haven’t I?” he mumbled.

Roman preened at the flattery. “What about you, Coffee-Wizard? What do you do off-shift? Besides have excellent taste in men, of course.”

“I um. I’m new in town? I help Patton at the bakery sometimes. But mostly it’s been Netflix and tumblr. I’m sorry, I know that’s really boring –“

“My dear Virgil! Have no fear! We will get you into the local scene! Although I’m surprised Remy hasn’t brought you to The Crypt yet, everyone knows he’s the best DJ in the area.”

“He’s offered but – clubbing, I don’t know. Not super my thing. Besides the fact that I have no idea how Remy operates on so little sleep as it is.”

“Definitely a vampire,” Roman told him solemnly. “He lives off coffee and the broken hearts of the guys, gals, and nonbinary pals who haven’t heard he has a boyfriend yet.”

“Oh – um, do you, I mean, have you…?” Virgil stuttered.

“Have I tried and failed to capture the heart of the only other man who could provide my daily caffeinated nectar?” Roman asked with a grin. “No, that distinction is yours alone, thundercloud. I’ve chatted with him at the club now and again, but we’re looking for different things. Antony finds Remy’s constant flirting endearing, even when it’s not with him. Me, I don’t share well. When I’m dating someone, I tend to get protective.”

Virgil coughed nervously, and wondered how he could get an agreeable shiver up his spine while simultaneously feeling warmed all over. He couldn’t get ahead of himself. For all he knew, talk of destinies and evil sorcerers would scare Roman away forever.

They arrived at the park and found a bench up a slight hill, glossed over with the rays of setting sun. Roman leaned back, took another swig of his coffee concoction, and sighed contentedly. “So. What did you want to talk to me about that is more important than the first date I’m waiting impatiently for?”

Virgil fidgeted in his seat nervously, not sure how to begin. _Why did that snake need to cross my path again? I would be so much happier worrying about a date._

“Um… I… You know fortune-tellers, right? With palm-reading or tarot cards, and they tell you what will happen to you?” Roman nodded, a bit bemused. Virgil took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m… a real one. Not with the pleasant half-truths that could fit anyone, or the vague ‘something bad may happen in some timeframe that could be called soon’ stuff. I can see your actual future. Or at least, what probably could happen to you and how you’ll get there.”

He held his eyes closed for a beat, cringing in anticipation of disbelief or mockery. It didn’t come. He cracked open an eye. Roman’s mouth was agape, his eyes aglow.

“Are you the Shadow Man?!” Roman asked with glee. “Do you have ‘Friends on the Other Side’?!”

“Wha- what? Shadow Man… Wait, from _The Princess and the Frog_? The Walt Disney movie?” Virgil asked. Roman nodded excitedly.

“Um, no. He was evil, wasn’t he? And he changed their futures. I just… tell. I don’t think I’m evil. Do I… do I come off as evil?” This should not be the part that made Virgil nervous, but he couldn’t help it.

“Well you are a little Tall, Dark, and Brooding,” Roman answered with a shrug. Seeing Virgil’s confused look, he added slyly “Don’t worry, I’m into it.”

Virgil blushed again, muttering, “Good to know.” He shook his head and tried to clarify. “I guess it’s less like tarot or fortune-telling then. It’s more like…um...” He pondered. Wait, Walt Disney! Cartoons! That was it!

“Okay, this might be weird, but have you seen this one kids show called _Steven Universe_?”

He fell back against the bench as Roman let out a sound that could only be described as a squeal. “HAVE I SEEN STEVEN UNIVERSE? It’s only the best cartoon on TV! Ohmigosh it’s so cute and moving and don’t even get me started on the actual gay wedding! On a kid’s show!”

“Okay, you do know it. Good. So there’s the character Garnet, who can see possible futures, but no capital-F Future that can’t be avoided.”

Roman scooted closer and whispered “Futuree vissiioonnnn!” with delight. “Wait, if you’re like Garnet, are you a…?”

“A what?” Virgil blinked at him.

“Have you seen any other episodes besides _Future Vision_?”

“Uh, no, not yet, I was kind of searching just for stuff about seeing the future?”

Roman clapped his hands with delight. “Ohhh, you have to see them all. The reveal is so good! I will watch with you! _Steven Universe_ and Chill!”

Virgil blushed ( _Again? Pull yourself together, Sage!_ ) and continued. “I think I’d like that. So, anyway, the way my ‘future vision’ works, if someone asks me for their future, I can’t give them a definite answer. There are just too many options. But what I can see are the most likely ones, the split between the two most likely possible paths, and the choice that they will make that will guide them to one of those paths.”

Roman contemplated this for a moment. “Like the river Garnet mentions. That splits into creeks or pools into lakes or careens down waterfalls! Are the two paths always so different that one choice will divide them forever?”

“Not always,” Virgil responded. “Sometimes the choice is like a rock in the water. It diverts the flow into two, but it’s not impossible for the two halves to rejoin. But sometimes, that rock is a mountain, splitting the flow into two diverging rivers, and nothing could bring them back together. Once a choice is made, the current can’t reverse. And the more impactful or important the path is, the less likely the choice can be amended, or that the futures will reconnect.”

Roman nodded, more serious than Virgil had ever seen. “I think I understand. Is there anything that changes a person’s future?”

“I do, sort of. Not directly, that’s forbidden, but the act of seeking out and hearing your destiny will necessarily have an effect on your choices going forward. The phrase we’ve used for most of my existence is ‘to know your destiny is to be bound by it’.”

Roman took a deep breath and leaned back. “Well. That is certainly something. Wait- who’s ‘we’? Are there more of you?” He winked. “I’d like _that._ ”

“Not more of me, specifically, but us as a whole, there were others. We’re called the Sages. Except I don’t know that you’ll ever see another one, even if you knew where to look. They’ve given up on having bodies and direct contact with the world, as far as I know. I think I’m the last one still walking around.”

Roman glanced at Virgil’s face. “Is that hard?”

He responded with a shrug. “It’s been alright. As a race, we all tend to be loners. And I’m not really practicing anymore. I’ve been trying to be more human in this life.”

“This life?”

“I’m… kind of… eternal? When my life ends, I’ll lose my attachment to this body and its unique quirks. I think my personality alters a bit, depending on my form. But my memory and consciousness can transfer into a new body and life. I’m…” he glanced over, and cautiously continued, “three thousand, four hundred years old. Give or take a couple decades from between reformations.”

Roman blinked, then immediately grinned. “So what you’re saying is… you’re a cougar!”

That brought back Virgil’s blush. “Oh no, you’re right! I hadn’t even thought of it that way,” he responded with a matching grin, covering his face in exaggerated embarrassment.

“You look great for three thousand, old man. You also just look great for a man,” Roman told him, slinging an arm over the Sage’s shoulder. “Is this how first dates always go? ‘By the way, I am literally eons older than you or anyone you could possibly know, let’s make out!’”

Virgil’s face fell. He wished that was the extent of this. He’d almost let himself forget, basking in relief that his identity hadn’t made Roman run away or start talking gently about delusions of grandeur.

“…oh, was that too forward? I know I can be kind of… a lot,” Roman said. A note of anxiousness crept into his voice as he pulled his arm back.

Virgil met Roman’s eyes, and tried to bring warmth back into his voice to say, “No, no, that’s not it at all. I mean, you are a lot, but I like it, a lot. It’s just. This wasn’t why I needed to talk to you. This was all just… context.” He took a deep breath, shifting to face Roman more directly. “I haven’t been playing the part of a Sage recently, but the other day it happened without me meaning to. Someone from my past found me, a sorcerer, and demanded to know his destiny. There are rules about how and when I use my power, and he knew how to use those rules to compel an answer. He… well, let’s just say he does not have good intentions for the world as we know it. And I need to tell you this because when I saw his futures... you were there.”

He paused, looking for a reaction in the other man’s face. The shock was clear. “Me?” Roman asked. “Am I... in danger?”

Virgil’s heart wrenched. He couldn’t keep looking into those wide, fearful hazel eyes, and looked at the setting sun as he spoke. “Not imminent danger, no. He doesn’t know you exist, to my knowledge. But he’s received his destiny, and now he is bound to it. He will pursue his plot against the world. And the only futures where he doesn’t succeed involve you. I’m… so sorry. Either a powerful sorcerer will bring harm to all of humanity, you included, or you will be one of few who can stand in his way.” Virgil realized dimly that his eyes were welling up as he continued to speak. “I wish I could protect you, or even tell you exactly how to avoid harm. But I can’t. It is forbidden and so it might as well be impossible. All I can offer you is the choice. You can live as you have, without getting any more involved. You can remain human and unknowing of your fate. Or,” he said with a shuddering breath, “you can choose to know your destiny, and be bound by it. You can choose to have the same risk of knowledge, and same knowledge of risk, as he.”

He finally looked back up, as a tear escaped and coursed down his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Roman. It’s an impossible choice. I wanted to keep you safe in ignorance, but I know that wouldn’t be fair. You deserve to _have_ the choice, at least.”

Roman had gone from shock to staring off into space, stony-faced. Virgil looked down. “I really am sorry. If you want to take back that offer of a date, I more than understand.”

Roman snapped out of his contemplation with a small shake of the head. “Oh no, I don’t want to take it back. I deserve it more than ever now. After all, I’m going to be the savior of Humanity!” He attempted to flash his regular smile, but his mouth trembled slightly.

“Roman, please, you have to understand. Even if tell your future, nothing is certain except that your life will be one of the ones I have seen. There’s no guarantee of success. And by the rules set in place around my power, I will be obligated to conceal information that could save your life.” Virgil _needed_ to make him understand the gravity of the decision. He couldn’t let this kind, not to mention handsome, man risk his life on the idea of glory. He couldn’t let him walk unprepared into a staring contest with death.

Roman looked down. “I… no, I think I understand. It’s dangerous. But if what this… sorcerer, you said? If what he’s plotting is that bad, how can I say no? I’m just an actor, but if you’ve seen it, that means there’s a _chance_ I can do something. That’s more than anyone else has got. And being prepared will maybe increase that chance a little. So,” he said, meeting Virgil’s eyes, “let’s do this. What do I do?”

Virgil faltered. This was his last chance to shield him entirely. But he couldn’t. It was Roman’s choice, after all. “You need to ask with these words. Once you say them, and accept the risk, I will not be able to refuse or stop. ‘Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.’ If you don’t want to commit, please, tell me now. Once the knowledge is yours, you can never be free of it.”

Roman looked up at the sky, watching the sun sink closer towards the horizon. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to face Virgil. He set his shoulders, and spoke the words as if a center spotlight had lit his face and the play’s pivotal soliloquy had arrived.

“Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

“I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Roman offered his arms, his face set, and Virgil clasped their palms into each others’ forearms. He was barely aware of the spark he felt between their skin before the visions began to pour in.

So many images were familiar, but now Roman was in every single one. To Virgil’s relief, there were many in which Roman was healthy and unhurt. To his chagrin, there were far fewer where he was both unhurt and successful at foiling Dante’s plan. _Come on, Princey, I know you have it in you,_ Virgil thought. _Somewhere, I know there’s a choice you can make to help yourself and us all._

He found it and spoke, the familiar echos of ethereal power gliding above and under his words. _“If you let the dark be your ally, you will bring forth the light.”_

Roman look stunned.

“Did… did you know your eyes glow when you do that?”

Virgil was shaken entirely out of the magic. “What?”

“Yeah, you were just staring into space and your eyes were glowing white.”

“I… no, no one’s ever mentioned it before. But um. How do _you_ feel?”

Roman half-smiled. “I mean, it’s pretty vague. I have a feeling I won’t understand it until the time comes. But… I don’t regret knowing.” He released Virgil’s arm and patted his knee. “Thank you for trusting me with your identity, and for not trying to shield me from the future. It means a lot.”

Virgil released Roman’s other arm. “I’m so sorry about the vagueness. I wish I could help more. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t need to put a brave face on it for me, I know it’s still a lot…”

“Hey. Virge. I mean it. It is a lot, yeah, but I’ll be okay.”

The Sage sighed. “Okay. I’ll try to not keep freaking out. Can I walk you home?”

Roman smiled. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explaining the supernatural and weird through cartoons. Virgil is me, I am Virgil, time is a flat circle.


	16. In Waning Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zephyr the Sage receives a request from a Seeker - one who cannot journey to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings, this chapter only: OC character death; miscarriage

#####  **Flashback: 1600 CE, northern fjords**

It was quiet, and Vorel was alone. Both these facts had become all too familiar, these last hundred years. Soon, she hoped, the visitor she’d sent for would arrive. Then, at least, she would have answers, if not comfort.

She craned her neck to peer out of her safe haven and into the fjord where she lived. Not a creature in sight. Perhaps today would be safe enough to go fishing, and possibly even swimming. Not that she wanted to get her hopes up. Alone was still preferable to hunted, and she wasn’t eager to risk it.

 _Please, Sage,_ she thought. _Come soon._

* * *

 Zephyr was shocked when a missive arrived for him in his rocky grotto. The age of kings sending for a wiseman had largely passed.  Most just trusted in their own judgment now, or saw Sages as tricksters giving purposely misleading fortunes. It felt unfair, but Zephyr understood how the conclusion had been reached.

He was also more than a little reluctant to go to a Seeker. In the last hundred years since he’d Seen for Dante, there had been few Seekers finding him. The need really was declining. So who could this mysterious letter-writer be?

There were hints, but Zephyr could hardly believe the conclusion towards which they pointed. The letter itself was perpetually damp, but the ink didn’t run. The writing was legible, but huge and shaky. And there was a faint magical aura attached to the birchbark scroll, one that could be only left behind by one type of creature.

The hints were enough to be intriguing, enough to convince him to actually answer the summons. Zephyr’s curiosity mixed with what he was sure would be a vain hope led him to gather up a sturdy traveling cloak and walking staff and set off. He’d left a small sign behind him, telling any Seekers that the Sage was on a journey but would return within the decade, not that he expected it to be needed.

As he strode off across the moors and highlands, he realized this was his first _journey_ in almost 2,000 years. He always just… appeared in new places, straight from the ether. His searching had all been incorporeal. The last time he’d explored had been in between the fall of Delphi and his arrival on the White Mountain. And his exploration then had been largely due to, well, fear. Humanity had been in absolute turmoil, particularly in the center of the world, where politics and religion were both erupting in war. So many of his brethren had involved themselves. Some did so without backlash, like the three Sages posing as human kings, marking the one human whose choices would affect all of human history. Some did not fare so well, like those who’d claimed religious titles and been killed in the resulting wars.

He’d stayed out of all of it. He had no interest in risking his form, and he worried constantly that so much direct interference would end up backfiring on them all. It had been the most tumultuous time to be a Sage, even for those who existed only in the ether. If there had been any real sound there, it would have been a constant echoing cacophony of arguments over the right course of action.

Better to stay corporeal and far, far away.

He, or they as they’d been that lifetime, had gone north, nameless, only using the title The Sage to identify themself. They had wanted to be as anonymous as possible, as unrecognizable as possible. They’d been androgynous and unmemorable - of a certain bland height, of a certain blah color hair and eyes, with a face that could have been anyone: male, female, neither, both. Perhaps they’d been attractive, but they would have had to have been observed by humans to know for sure. The animals and creatures they’d met didn’t care.

They had picked a more overtly magical form so that they could walk across water and ice with ease without risk of frostbite. Countless years were spent exploring glaciers and icecaps, marveling at how alien this earthly landscape could be. They’d adopted an orphaned polar bear cub and had magically enhanced its form until it was twice the size of other bears. Those years when The Sage had been able to ride their ursine companion through the snowy tundra had been heady and delightful, two nameless, anonymous beings carousing as one. But even with a life twice as long as non-magical bears, 50 years from cub to death had passed by in a blink of a Sage’s lifetime. The loss had left them lethargic, but luckily they had found new and fascinating companions soon after.

Now, Zephyr was returning to almost the same area he’d traversed so thoroughly as The Sage. Snow was falling gently, but thick clouds in the distance threatened a harsher storm brewing. The echoes of familiarity were as strong as if Zephyr was Seeing the destiny of the landscape itself.

He checked the map that had accompanied the written petition for his aid. He was close, that was for sure. Where was the Seeker? He didn’t even have a name on the letter, just a deliberate stain shaped like a perfect teardrop. How would he know if he’d found the right person or, if his suspicions were correct, creature?

Zephyr walked down a narrow, rocky path overlooking a gorgeous fjord for at least another hour before he felt the tingling of a nearby magical being. He shivered from the cold and the anticipation. All this secrecy and all his speculations throughout the long journey were about to be clarified.

A presence appeared in his mind, one that felt and sounded like both the rush of rapids and the slow drip of water from stalactites. _Sage? Are you the Sage?_

He closed his eyes to focus. He hadn’t communicated this way in almost two millennia. _Yes, I am the Sage. Where can I find you?_

_The cave in front of you. Up the rockslide. Are you alone?_

_Yes._

He felt relief roll off the voice in his mind like powder snow shaking off tree branches. He opened his eyes and saw the rockfall. Using his staff, agility, and magic when he lost his footing, he scrambled to the top to find himself on a large plateau at the mouth of a cave. A pool inside threw off an otherworldly glow of blue and green onto the dark stone walls. A movement in the shadows alerted him that the Seeker was about to emerge.

She stepped out from the secondary cave where she’d been hiding since she felt the Sage’s presence. Pearly claws made no sound on the rock floor as she cautiously came around the rock wall into the main chamber.

Despite having his suspicions, Zephyr was entirely unprepared to meet the beautiful creature who’d summoned him. Curled horns that matched her claws sat atop glistening scales the color of lapis lazuli, but their shine was unmatched by the intelligent glint in the dragon’s amethyst eyes. She regarded him carefully, and Zephyr could feel her magic probing him for traps or curses, and sweeping the area for other beings in case he’d lied about being alone.

Finally, the great creature nodded and came fully out into the opening at the cave’s mouth, curling hindquarters and long, gilded tail until she lay in a very feline pose in front of Zephyr.

_Greetings, Sage. I am the Seeker who asked you to visit me. I am Vorel._

Zephyr took a deep breath. He’d forgotten just how stunning dragons were up close. And it had been a millennium since he’d even glimpsed one.

He settled in front of the lovely creature, placing a hand gently on her scales. With direct contact, neither magical being would need to strain to communicate clearly.

_Greetings, Vorel. I am the Sage known as Zephyr. Is the rest of your clan still in the cave? I understand if you want privacy…_

_Clan? Who is pampered enough to have a clan anymore?_ The dragon’s voice was harsh in his mind, with a level of rawness in the edges that pointed towards pain not yet healed.

_Apologies - I haven’t lived with dragons in millennia. Has draconic culture changed so much?_

Vorel looked at the small being in front of her quizzically. _You_ _are T_ _he Sage that lived with the Athear clan, correct? Was that your last contact with dragons?_

The Athear clan - the Celestials. What an accurate name it had been. Dragons of all elements and colors swooping in and out of their snow-covered mountain home high in the Arctic Circle, at the very top of the world. If any creatures on earth had been near to heavens, it had been those that took in the Sage after they’d lost their ursine companion. They’d remained with them for nearly a century, watching the young grow and getting rides on dragonback, soaring through the arctic air.

_Yes, that was me. I remember four adult dragons and at least 3 adolescents, and two more infants born during the time I lived with them. And they were a small clan. Have habitats shrunk so much now? _

Vorel nodded _. The ecosystem that can provide hunting ground and cover for even two adults is rare, nowadays. Those that can support a traditional clan no longer exist. But if you were that Sage- you knew my grandmothers and grandfathers. I heard so many stories but… what were they like?_ The dragon’s bright eyes were filled with hope and melancholy in equal measure.

How could Zephyr forget them? In a period of his existence when he had wanted to be unrecognizable, to be no one at all, the lively clan had pulled him into reality through the sheer force of their personalities. In the tradition of dragonkind, each of them mated for life, but not with just one mate. The Athear clan was one big family, with four adult partners that loved one another equally and the dragonlings that came from various unions within the partnership. Their balance likely came from the balance of elements. Of the four, there had been one of each of the four dragon magic types: water, earth, fire, and air.

 _By the stars, they were fun_, Zephyr told Vorel. _Nagol and Ligriv would team up to cover Namor in mud when she wasn’t looking, and sometimes they’d convince Nattop to make it dry on her scales. Then Namor would have to burn it off herself, complaining that her partners really could stand to appreciate the hot one more. And Ligriv would always be the first to feel bad, so she’d wash off the Namor too thoroughly and continue to nuzzle her until Nagol and Nattop got jealous and they’d all end up in a cuddling heap. They all teased each other equally but supported each other entirely. If I ever found a quarter of the love they had for each other, I’d consider myself the luckiest being in the world._

Vorel’s eyes were glistening, but Zephyr couldn’t tell exactly with what. _My mother used to tell me stories of their antics. I wish I could have met them. I wish Vignar could have met them._

_Vignar?_

_He is…_ _was _ _my mate. My only. But he is… I lost him. Just over one hundred years ago._

_I’m so sorry for your loss, Vorel. Does that mean you are alone?_

Vorel tried and failed to blink back tears as Zephyr felt her grip on mindspeech slipping. Words were replaced with images and feelings, incoherent moments from her mind flashing into his.

> I was curled up with a larger dragon, black as obsidian with practically glowing ruby claws. A warm cave where firelight danced along an impressive hoard from gold to books to magic staves. Yells, as loud as thunderclaps, echoing through the cavern as angry torches ascended our mountain. A last panicked glimpse as Vignar turned to lure the attacking prince and his entourage away from where I was hiding. Ice gripping my heart as I saw him fall, crystallizing, wanting to stay and mourn but knowing the attackers were near. Gray haze, numbness, flying for days on end, fleeing the grief and my love’s murderers. Pulse after pulse of magical seeking, looking for my distant kin, any other dragons. Anywhere. Please. Where are you? _Where are you?_
> 
> Hopelessness. I am alone.
> 
> Grit and fire, sand and sun. Sand in every direction. The extreme heat will dry up my grief, maybe it can dry up my watery heart too. At least if I die here, they won’t find my body until it’s been ground down unrecognizably. Sudden kicking. Pulsing. What is this feeling? What is this _life_? Realization. Joy. _A dragonling_. But I’m in the desert and a little one will not survive here. Flying again, trying to move gently, but still escaping the extremes. North, north will be safe, north will be a perfect place for my child. I found this cave - quiet, cool, and the fish and elk are plentiful. I will be a mother. I will raise a dragon here. But then... cramps - too early. Blood - too much. Realization - too painful. Silence.
> 
> Alone. I am alone.

Zephyr pulled a hand back from Vorel’s scales. He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying too, but his tears mirrored the dragons. He hesitated, then cautiously stood and hugged as much of the lovely creature’s neck as he could. It wasn’t much, he knew. What could he possibly offer in the face of all she’d lost? But this was what he had. This, and the ability to see the future. Even that seemed useless - what she needed was his power a century ago. But he could not travel through time, and he could not resurrect the dead. All he could do was offer what comfort there was in his embrace.

Long moments passed as Vorel calmed herself. She gestured for Zephyr to stand back, and she produced a plume of water straight up above herself to rinse her face and scales. Finally, she turned to the Sage. _My past is as it is. My present is empty. I asked you here because I do not know what the future could possibly hold for me. Please, if you can- tell me what choices are available to me now._

Zephyr nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Vorel looked at the fjord below, and her eyes glowed as a ribbon of water flew up to her and settled along her spine like a blanket. _I am ready. Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny._

_Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?_

_I am._

_Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound._

Zephyr placed his palms against each of the dragon’s forepaws with just a bit of awkwardness, and gazed into her future.

What... what was he seeing? This couldn’t be right. He was so used the flood of possibilities, he was continuously braced for them. But right now, he saw three, and only three. No mini-variations along the larger paths. Just three, full stop. Vorel would die here in this cavern, frail and weak and exhausted with life. Vorel would die at the hands of humans as she fought valiantly to the end. Or Vorel would die of her own volition, by her own power. The future held no more dragons. With the death of her mate and her unborn dragonling, she was the very last living remnant of all dragonkind. No choices could be made to change this fact. Death was coming, inevitable and unstoppable. Her only choice was how.

Cassandra take him, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t give just a vague riddle. To convey this destiny as anything other than a choice of deaths was tantamount to lying. He opened tear-filled eyes and spoke not with his power, but with his own voice, directly to her mind.

_Vorel, I cannot mask the truth from you, nor hide the stark reality behind vague promises. You are the last dragon on this earth. Hope for your kind’s future died with Vignar and your dragonling. The choice in your future is only how you will meet your death: by withering, fighting, or taking it yourself. I wish I could tell you this was not so, but I cannot. All I can offer is that should you choose it, I will be with you until the end._

The blue water-dragon looked beyond Zephyr, at the graceful cliffs and rocks of the fjord. It was peaceful here. It could have been a wonderful home for her family. She did not want it to be her tomb.

 _Sage, thank you for your honesty,_ Vorel told the lanky man. She wished he would look away. The tears on his cheeks were pricking her eyes to begin their flood afresh, and there was no longer any use or need for such a display. _I appreciate the knowledge of my choice, and your kind offer. But it will not be necessary. I have lived alone since I lost my child, in solitude since my Vignar’s death ten years before. To die alone will be no undue hardship. Thanks to you, I can accept that truth with grace._

The dragon rose slowly as Zephyr took a step back. She nodded to him gravely in farewell, then leapt into the air.

Zephyr stood in shock and sorrow after her departure, still watching long after the last hint of blue tail had vanished from view. Tears were still rolling silently down his cheeks. What good was the power of the ether when he could do nothing? Was this just the curse of being a Sage, to be able to see but never to act?

The wind picked up, dark clouds having finally reached him. The gentle flurries of snow that had been lazily cascading down around him were becoming icier, harder, and more urgent as they whipped his face with cold. He shivered and entered the cave, seeking shelter.

 _Behold the great power of the Sages,_ he thought bitterly. _Waiting it out_.

* * *

Vorel flew.

She stretched her wings as wide as possible, cherishing the sensation of air rushing past her. It was perfect weather for flying. Cool, but not cold, with enough cloud cover to soar freely without risk of being spotted. She allowed herself to frolic through and over clouds, drawing small comforts from the water that had managed to find her even here, leagues above the earth.

The air was thin and cool, and growing steadily cooler. When she felt ice starting to form on her scales, she swooped through the cloud cover to the relatively warmer air nearer the ground. Emphasis on relatively - here in the Arctic Circle, nothing was _warm_. The fjords and forests below her had been replaced with tundra and glaciers as she neared the northernmost point of the world. Could her ancestors sense her approach to their ancient home? Would they have despaired to know why she returned?

She found a huge glacier presiding proudly at the very pole. Yes, it would do nicely. She reached out with her power, melting and moving ice out of the great structure, creating a perfectly-tailored cave for just herself. The cold was starting to bite into her bones, making her sluggish. That was fine. She would have enough time.

The sun was setting as she settled into her nook. The sunset’s oranges and reds reflected warmly off the snow and ice, a poetic irony of frozen flame. She let the silence fill her ears and her mind. The earth was truly a beautiful place. She would miss that.

She focused her own magic on herself. Her magical affinity for water was entwined with her bones - her very lifeblood was magical water, as her mate’s had been fire. What they shared in common was a heart that beat with the lifeflame of dragons. Vorel let the ice around her become one with her scales and bones, feeling the her flame start to flicker in time with the last glints of sunlight on the horizon. Color drained from claws and scales alike as she became ice starting at her tail. The cold spread up her hindquarters and along her back, creeping ever closer to her snout.

The sun passed the horizon entirely, send the whole arctic seascape into inky blackness. Vorel took a deep breath, and blew out her out lifeflame into the night as her body became pure ice, with no life left. The dragon-flame danced in the air briefly, then stretched and lengthened, flowing up into the sky. It joined the flames already there, stretching in ever-changing ribbons of light rippling in the northern sky, lighting up the arctic night with their glow.

The last dragon on earth had died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative name for this chapter: No Fear | Dragons Could Disappear Forever | One Fear
> 
>  
> 
> Dragons’ names comes from a Draconic Primer I found online: [ Dragontounge ](https://www.fantasist.net/draconic.shtml). Vorel means beautiful, while Vignar means ash. Her grandparents’ names were much less subtle.
> 
> Chapter title from [Aurora Borealis ](http://www.blackcatpoems.com/g/the_aurora_borealis.html) by Hannah Flagg Gould
> 
> Song listened to while writing the last scene: _Never Let Me Go_ by Florence and the Machine  
> 


	17. The Color Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after Virgil's revelation, and things haven't immediately blown up and Roman doesn't hate him. It's good to be wrong, occasionally.

Virgil was antsy that night. Around 4 am he realized that sleep was just not happening tonight, and offered to show up early at the bakafé to help Remy with the coffee roasting.

Knowing that Remy was coming directly from the nightclub had not prepared Virgil for his appearance. If he hadn’t been ~~infatuated with~~ ~~obsessed with~~ _interested in_ Roman already, his boss’s outfit would have flipped his poor gay immortal heart upside-down. Remy’s shirt, if you could call it that, was entirely mesh, with a slightly denser weave across his chest serving only to draw more attention to the muscles and abs made _very_ visible by the rest of the shirt. A long black skirt with an incredibly provocative slit up to his mid-thigh was paired with shiny black leather boots with at least 3 inches in the chunky heels. No wonder Remy had broken half the hearts in town. He looked absolutely _fierce_.

Working alongside him was still fun, though. Coming straight from DJing, Remy was much quieter than usual, but had an intense focus he brought to the bean roasting process. The roaster, who was named Cyril (“He’s the Jean-Ralphio to Gilda’s Mona Lisa and he is equally perfect”), occupied the cafe’s small basement, humming and producing the most delicious smell. Remy rasped instructions, his vocal chords shot after a particularly enthusiastic evening. “Oh, gurl, it was _lit_. Just pure insanity, amazing,” he drawled proudly in a hoarse whisper. “I brought out a new remix of _Take a Hint_ from _Victorious_ , it absolutely slayed.”

The quiet back-and-forth and comfortable silences in between helped Virgil calm the cycling thoughts that had been going nonstop since his conversation with Roman the previous evening. And learning the roasting process, which had discrete steps to follow but unique quirks and guesswork along the way, was intriguing. Virgil suddenly regretted not learning to _make_ things in his past lives. The satisfaction of having a physical result from his labor was so unlike any of the esoteric, vague guidance he produced as his ‘real’ job.

As Remy went to catnap before the cafe actually opened, Virgil wandered to the bakery. Maybe he could help there too.

He found Patton and Talyn at the baking benches rolling pastry dough into croissants. Patton was offering some guidance but mostly just overly effusive praise as Talyn rolled their eyes, grinning.

“Hey Pat, hey Talyn. Any chance I can do something to help with baking? I’m feeling antsy, like I need something to occupy my hands.”

“Good morning kiddo! Of course! Come on over here, you perfect little doughball.”

As Patton transferred his attention to Virgil and enthusiastically began to explain how to make croissants, Talyn caught Virgil’s eyes and mouthed _thank you_ as they proceeded to roll and set perfectly curved pastries much faster than they’d been able to before.

“Oh, Virge! I almost forgot! I made you something!” Patton announced as Virgil finally got the hang of the process. “I will be right back!”

He vanished into the back room. Virgil smiled hesitantly at Talyn. “He’s a funny guy, but he is really great, isn’t he?”

They grinned back. “He’s kind of exhausting, but yeah, he’s the best. We can talk about cats! And Joan and I have both learned a ton. His business strategies are actually really sophisticated. Plus, now I can make my own croissants,” they said with a small flourish at the finished products emerging from the ovens.

“Ah yeah, that’s the dream isn’t it, making pastry and cat jokes.”

“Don’t forget the vetal mike- I mean, viking metal. I sneak it into the bakery playlist when Patton’s not paying attention. Caught him headbanging the other day, though!”

Virgil grinned, but he also couldn’t help asking the question that had been hounding him since he first saw the young bakery assistant. “Okay, sorry if this is weird but _how_ is your hair so colorful?”

“Hair dye, duh. Why, you like it?”

“What do you call this particular shade in between the blue and pink? It’s just so… pretty. Ugh, is that weird to say? It’s a really nice color but I don’t want to be creepy, is this creepy, I should stop talking...”

Talyn grinned. Clearly, Virgil was in need of their help, and they knew just what to do. They were explaining their plan to an awestruck (and excited) Virgil as Patton returned from the backroom bearing an _enormous_ cake.

“Hey kiddo! I promised you I would celebrate you officially calling me your friend, so here you go! It’s a Patty-Cake!”

Virgil’s eyes were wide. “Patton, that thing could feed an entire family for a month!”

“I know, I got a little carried away. The soup kitchen regulars will love it if you don’t want to finish it.”

It was truly a marvel. A gradient of violet icing provided a base for black swirls and crescent moons, with black cats hiding in the corners. The whole thing took both Patton’s arms to carry as he proudly set it down on a bench.  “I know it’s a litttttle early, but you said Halloween was your favorite holiday,” the baker grinned. “And I made a guess at your favorite cake flavor - red velvet!”

“Thank you Patton. I know I’ll love it. And thank you, Talyn, for your help with the croissants and your generous offer.”

Patton smiled. “I’m so glad two of my favorite kiddos are getting along. Especially since this buddy of mine is really a friend,” he paused for buildup, “ _of many Talyn-ts_!”

Virgil and Talyn groaned in unison and began pelting the baker with pastry scraps.

All in all, it was a much better start to the day than the night before.

* * *

_Later that evening_

Virgil <3: so, i have a surprise

Roman <3: Oh my gosh is it for me

V: i mean. if you like it, then i guess it is?

R: Ohhhh tell me!

V: if i tell you, it won’t be a surprise.  
V: do you not like surprises?

R:  I love surprises!  
R: So tell me :)

V: wait what

R:  I love surprises  
R:  I hate waiting  
R:  What is it???

V: you’d have to see me  
V: you’ll see it tomorrow at HYB

R:  Ohhh nooo, I can’t wait that long.  
R:  Just a sec

 **< <Roman ** **< 3** **would like FaceTime >>**

Virgil fumbled. The smartphone was still fairly new, and he’d always been more comfortable with writing.

“Can you see me? Nostra _damus_ , no, it’s front facing. Uhhh. Heck. _Heck_ ity heck. Oh, there we go.” He finally held the phone up at a good angle in the light.

Roman was smiling and brushing his hair back, tossing it just a bit.

“So uh. What do you think?” Virgil asked nervously.

Roman continued smiling. His eyes seemed to be a bit up and to the left of center.

“Roman? My... hair?"

Roman’s eyes finally shifted and widened, with a matching grin splitting his tanned face.

“Purple?! YAS boy! Look at you! You look like My Chemical Grape Jelly!”

“... is that good? ‘Chemical grape’ sounds bad.”

Roman stared, no longer at himself or at Virgil’s hair.

“Virgil. Have you not heard of My Chemical Romance? Your aesthetic, I kinda figured...”

“Sorry, is that a... movie? With the whole thirty-four-hundred years thing, there’s some pop culture I’ve missed. Like obviously I figured out Walt Disney was important, and the internet has been really helpful in figuring out this decade’s slang but I guess I missed your ‘Chemical Romance’ or whatever.”

Roman blinked, then grinned hugely. “Ohhhh my goodddd we need to get you to a music store like NOW. You’re SO gonna love them. Second date plans: check!”

“If you’re planning second dates, does that mean you like my hair?”

“It works with the broody barista vibe. You’d look good in any color, though.”

Virgil blushed at that, surprising a laugh out of the man on the phone.

“Oh no,  I can’t compliment you anymore. Now you clash!”

“I’m just not used to so many compliments. Especially not from someone like you.”

“Oh?” Roman asked with an arched eyebrow. “Someone like me? How so?”

Virgil’s blush deepened to crimson. “You know. Energetic. And fun. And... _pretty_.”

To Virgil’s surprise and delight, Roman’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “You mean it? I mean, of course you mean it, I’m beautiful, all my adoring fans tell me so, this is unsurprising news, thank you for your appropriate observations skills, I-“

“I’m so glad I’m not the only one of us who gets flustered,” Virgil said slyly.

“Flustered? Who’s flustered? I’m not flustered, I never get flustered. I’m influster-ble. Flusterable. Unflusterable. Did you like that? I just made that word up just now, I’m basically Shakespeare.”

Virgil tried and failed to maintain a straight face before breaking out in giggles. “Sweet Sybil, you’re so adorable. I need to fluster you more, clearly.”

“I hear nothing. There are no impossible statements being spoken that imply I could possibly be flustered. Do you note that I do not hear you? Observe, I ignore you.”

“If you’re ignoring me, I guess now is a great time to tell you that I really like you, and I’m looking forward to our second date.”

Roman paused his declarations and smiled. “I really like you too. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Princey.”

“Sleep well,” Roman said, winking. He blew a kiss to the phone screen. “Dream of me,” he stage-whispered, and immediately hung up.  
  
Virgil was smiling hugely until he realized he’d been gazing adoringly at a blank screen for some time now. He dropped his phone on the bedside table and fell backwards on his bed, hands covering his face. _This is definitely what it feels like to be a human who is also a complete and utter dork._

A lifetime of seeing the consequences of every action had made Virgil an understandably cautious man. For the first time in millennia, it felt like the endless cycle of risks might actually work out according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remy’s outfit is based on Jonathan Van Ness’ from the Creative Arts Emmys, like UGH it’s so good. Remy is a g-dd-mn QUEEN
> 
> Now that I’ve mentioned the names of both of Remy’s appliances, I’m gonna admit their inspiration: there was this one amazing author of Harry Potter fanfic back in the day whose only name was “Maya.” Her partner stories The Way We Get By and Drop Dead Gorgeous were my favorite portrayal of Malfoy I’ve ever read, and his way of learning Muggle technology was by naming his favorites. Gilda was the car radio. Cyril was the toaster that he ‘improved’ with magic and self-applying condiments. Wherever Maya is now, I hope she’d be proud of my use of her names. <3
> 
> Also, I think I used Talyn’s pronouns appropriately here, please, please roast me if I forked up.
> 
> [since emojis don't work on ao3, check out my tumblr rosesisupposes to see how Virge & Ro have each other listed in their respective phones. they dorks and i love them]


	18. Interlude: Dante's Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been four days since Dante ran into the Sage (literally). It's been two since he received his destiny. What's he up to, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE WARNING THIS CHAPTER for abuse, specifically child abuse, and Deceit being presented in both a villainous and sympathetic lights. Also, cigarettes/smoking

 Everything was working out according to plan.

Dante had been nervous that the Sage would follow him, or try to interfere, but he hadn’t even sensed him again since his divining. At least the man’s ridiculous notion of giving up on magic was good for _something_.

Dante had been so hopeful - him, of all people, _hopeful_ \- that a Sage would understand. He’d barely believed his luck when he’d run into the ancient being five days ago. With intense focus and a complete sacrifice of his human form, he’d been able to vaguely sense the presence of something non-human and magical in the city. He wished it could be have been another sorcerer or sorceress from the old days - Mordred maybe, or Morgan Le Fay, if he was dreaming big anyway. He would have been satisfied with a sprite. The ones who’d moved out of their now-hidden communities probably had a high enough level of bitterness for him to exploit, and he knew all too well what a single sprite could do if they put their mind to it.

But then, he had just walked into _him_ , this unassuming young man in a dark sweatshirt with bangs falling in his face, and he’d felt and seen it immediately. The flow of active magic. The sudden white glow in the man’s startled eyes. The familiar echos of ancient times. He’d only ever felt such a strong sense of eternity once- when he’d sought his destiny at Zephyr’s grotto. As he’d watched the man stammer, turn several shades of red, and practically sprint away from him, he knew he absolutely needed to find him again, no matter how many days it took.

Dante leaned back, sighing, as he dragged on his cigarette. The burning sensation in his mouth and throat centered him, gave him focus. It was the closest he could get to swallowing fire. The side effects of his downfall-by-fire-sprite were varied and incomprehensible at times, but this was definitely the strangest one. Smoking was comforting, the flow of carcinogens into his lungs calming. It dampened what hunger he still felt, dulled the pain of constant shape-shifting, and cooled his ever-present rage at the injustice that was the steady disappearance of magic. Was he even susceptible to disease or degradation in this form? He doubted it. He’d been alive since 1473, a magic-scorched adder since 1505. If a physical illness could end him, it would have by now. When he had the energy, he could light the tiny death sticks with his fingers. When he didn’t, he had a tiny yellow lighter on his person at all times. Humanity didn’t do many things right, but at least they’d made breathing smoke easy.

Of all the wonders of the world, though. A Sage, a being who was infinitely knowledgeable and immortal because of magic who didn’t understand why Dante wanted to preserve it? To ensure magic’s proper place at the top of the world order? Dante ached for the old days, when he walked to the bottom of the ocean without a moment’s thought, and could lift himself to fly through the air if he really focused. He’d studied alchemy, transmutation, history, and learned to enhance and channel his natural power further. Yes, he’d had to scheme to be taken seriously, but he’d learned the ways of wizards and humans, how they’d jump and how they worked. He could be very charming when he wanted to, and he could seek information wherever it was found. He had felt so _alive_.

And he’d had Septimus. Brilliant, driven Septimus. Who had welcomed him into the hallowed halls of learning that worked on every other side to make him feel unwelcome. Who had brought him into his academic world with open arms and an open invitation to use his personal library whenever it could help him. Timus who had fought for him, whether it was letting him pursue his chosen research topics or sleeping in the dorms without being encased in a magical ward at all times. Timus who’d given him acceptance and free reign without a second thought, who treated both his ability and aptitude as a matter of course.

He’d been so disoriented when he’d first met the older sorcerer. For his entire life before university, he’d been treated as a mindless weapon who would hurt anyone and everyone around him if left unattended or uncontrolled. Even the wizards of the university wanted to lock him in a room that was little better than a cell in order to protect the other students. And why wouldn’t they? He was a sorcerer. He was a liability. Long nights shivering in his cold-blooded scales brought back the memories as easy as closing his eyes. The details had lost definition, but he remembered a young frustration, a failed chore, tears conjuring a rainstorm without needing deliberate thought. Warm, maternal hands turned cold and harsh as they left a stinging mark on his cheek. The tears hadn’t stopped, and the storm has grown sparks. Screams in his ear, shouts behind closed doors, and Dante had been carted off to an unfamiliar place.

A place with adults whose voices reverberated like thunder through the halls and through his skull. _Foster home_ , it was called. _Correctional facility_ would have been more accurate. His new ‘siblings’ were child wizards, sirens, half-dryads, fairy changelings. All magical beings. All lone survivors of lost colonies or other younglings abandoned by their families. Or more simply, if you asked those disciplinarians who ran the gray institute, _freaks_. Abominations. Mistakes to be corrected through whatever means necessary. The siren was dehydrated. The dryads were scorched. Wizards and witches were kept illiterate. But Dante was a rare case. They couldn’t throttle out the magic that begged to be channeled through his hands and fingers, not when it flowed all around him, twining around his shoulders like an affectionate cat, cradling his chin, caressing his chest. They couldn’t force him to have no magic. But they could and did punish every expression of it. Any object that moved without him touching it. Any unexpected weather in the sky. Any metallic glint that could have come from his eye or hand - all provided more than enough justification for isolation, starvation, and savage beatings from the owners of the facility. Even those ignorant humans had made the connection between emotion and magical flares, so expression of feelings, too, were punished. With each missed meal, each night spent in a noiseless room, each lash and scar there was an accompanying whisper. The magic was persistent. It urged him to defend himself, to shield his body from harm. _To retaliate._

But the years taught him that no magic could keep him safer than a blank face. His expressionless mask slid into place when he watched another magic child be left at the iron gate. When his roommate was tied to a chair in direct sunlight to dry out her scales. When the owners lectured them all of the wrongness of their existence. The mask spoke, too, producing the words its listeners desired. The lies that kept him safe. He tried to teach the others, but none were able to maintain the deception, and put cracks in his own mask when they failed. Surviving the institute was every being for themselves. He didn’t have the luxury of friends. His magic kept him warm.

His anger at the injustice had been all that kept him sane, all that drove him to escape in his late teens and survive the journey to the university. And the mask traveled with him, prepared and ready for the headmaster’s skepticism and fear. Already in place when the scholars rebuffed his petitions to become an apprentice. And then suddenly, it wasn’t just cracking, it was _dissolving_ , melted away by a warm hand on his shoulder, a word of genuine praise in his ear, a pair of deep blue eyes streaked with gold meeting his in perfect understanding. It was no outcast who took him in, no half-rate archivist taking pity on the disturbed little sorcerer. It was the prodigy, the star of magical academia, the one who _never_ took an apprentice. It was Septimus.

Septimus who was long, long gone from this earth, where Dante still was, where Dante still remembered him and missed him. And regretted not saying goodbye. He’d seriously considered asking the older sorcerer to join him all those years ago. If he’d had Septimus the Azure at his side, maybe his plan would have succeeded. Or maybe ~~probably~~ he would have just cast Dante out in disgust. Timus was always too good for him, too patient, too willing to let indignation and frustration wash over and past him. He had an ability to just _accept_ the world as it was that had never made any sense to the younger sorcerer. But despite that, or maybe because of it, he’d been Dante’s only friend in all his 500-plus years of existence.

And it was his own fault he’d lost that, all of it. He’d overreached himself, wanting to rule over all beings while preventing the loss of magical beings entirely. He’d been so caught up in the potential of the staff’s power that he didn’t address practical concerns, like warding an incredibly sensitive magical working of immense magnitude. This time around, he had a better focus. He merely wanted to bring back what once was. Once he found the magic beings still in existence, he would convince them to join forces. As they grew in number, they would attract ever more. They could convince those purely magical beings who had fled to the ether to return. If they asked or allowed him to rule, all well and good - what happened after was not his objective nor his particular concern. The real goal was to revive them.

Except, first, he needed to unite them by finding others. _Any_ others. In his prime, he could sense magical beings from across continents. Not that he’d had a need, nor had they ever been so spread out. And his current magical reserves were still in shambles. When that sprite had ruined his plans (“ _turn to Flame_ ,” what a joke), he’d been deep in a magical working, with all his power engaged. It was the only reason he was still alive, long after even a sorcerer’s normal lifespan should have ended. The backlash had indeed trapped him in serpentine form, as he’d told the Sage. But the years had only slowly recovered his magical ability, not actually healed his body. Stuck in this world of humans, he expended far more magic than he’d like to shapeshift himself into a human form. Losing his concentration or switching to another complex spell broke his ability to stay humanoid. At least he retained his memory, sanity, and ability, no matter how many miles he’d had to slither on his belly across this godforsaken earth.

Once he gathered the magic folk to him, the ambient magic in the world would increase from their density, and his personal reserves would replenish more easily. He just needed to find them, and convince them the old world was not lost, not entirely. He had a theory that the density of magical beings was what led to new ones being born. It was like a forest growing back after a wildfire - once the sturdy, fast-growing trees were in place, the trees who flourished in shade were able to grow at their own slow pace. From what magical arcana he remembered or was able to find in the modern world, particularly his research on Sages and their life-cycles, he felt confident in his theory.  And now, he finally knew just _how_ he’d find the other magic folk: by using the innovations of this strange new world. Turns out, magic folk had slight genetic differences from humans, differences that, if you knew to look for them, could be spotted and traced, with the right technology. Thanks to some intrepid eavesdropping, Dante knew exactly whose research could act as a roadmap to a new - and dare he say- _Golden_ age of the fantastical.

Dante adjusted his new leather gloves. The yellow was a bold choice, he would be the first to admit, but the color was nostalgic. Gloves meant one more part of his body he no longer had to expend so much effort to cover in fleshy human skin. And of course, there was his second Prophecy to think on. He’d risk no “inadvertent prints” now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my dark strange evil son
> 
> Love to watch him scheme
> 
> Love to watch him suffer [Thank you @Hela from the Powerless discord for encouraging the angst]
> 
> (if you didn’t read chapter 17 right before starting this one please go back and read the last line immediately before this chapter’s first line because it makes me very happy)


	19. Loganberry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil debuts his hair at the bakafé and Patton has some ideas for new snacks. What could go wrong?

It was a fine day, in Virgil’s opinion. The sun was out, the weather was crisp, and he’d woken up still happy with his newly-dyed hair.

Upon his arrival to _How You Brewin’,_ Remy had immediately latched onto his head and cooed praise over his amethyst locks. “YAASS BOI,  look at you discovering polychromatic hair! This is why you need to come to The Crypt, you would SLAY the dance floor and break all the hearts. You could follow in my glamorous footprints!”

“Glad you like it, Rem. Gonna have to pass on the danceclub heartbreak, though.”

“ _Fiiiine_ ,” his boss sighed. “I’ll just have to tell them all to come _here_ to have their hearts broken. There’s no way I’m sleeping on the business angle here, girl. Broken heart equals party hard, it’s just math.”

Virgil flushed slightly. “I really think you’re giving me too much credit. People are not going to take one look at me and go head over heels.”

“It’s true, some might not. Not all of them can pull off heels as well as I can,” Remy nodded philosophically. “But for real, boi, look at you. You’ve got Roman, THE prettiest gay in this town, except for my lovely self of course...”

“Of course,” Virgil replied, straight-faced.

“And he was flirting with you the minute he walked through those doors! Face it. You’re hot, and it’s gonna make me money. Now go show Patton, he’ll flip if he doesn’t get to see his son’s new hair.”

Virgil went. He wasn’t sure if he was going to see Patton or running away from Remy, but either way, the bakery seemed like a safer place to be at this particular moment.

Patton was rolling out pastry when Virgil walked around the counter, but something seemed off. The pastry was stretched and too thin in some places, horribly bunched and thick in others, and the baker continued to roll without any seeming care to the inconsistencies.

“Good morning, dad.”

No response. Virgil was so surprised he almost walked into a bench. He carefully waved a hand in front of the baker’s face. “Pat? You okay, buddy?”

Patton finally noticed and snapped to attention. He smiled at Virgil, but it was overly wide and appeared strained. “Hey kiddo! I’m just fine and dandy! Just another day in the life as your happy-pappy Patton! Can I get you anything? Some snacks? A muffin? Let me know!”

“Patton. Something’s going on. What’s up?”

“The roof! Also the sky!”

Virgil groaned. “Patton, I know _something_ is wrong. You’re not yourself today. You don’t need to pretend you’re okay if you’re not.”

The baker’s smile trembled. “Virgil, you sweet and sour shadowling, I appreciate your concern. I will be fine!”

“Pat-”

“That was a lie, nothing will ever be fine!” Patton suddenly burst out, diving at Virgil for a desperate hug.

“Hey, it’s okay, what’s wrong?”

“Love has failed me!” cried the baker’s muffled voice.

Virgil pulled Patton up from where the shorter man had lodged himself at his waist. “Pat, are you hurt? What happened?”

“Logan hasn’t texted me back!”

Virgil stared, trying to not roll his eyes. That was it? “Patton, I didn’t even know you had his number! How long has it been?”

Patton sniffed. “I got his number two days ago after you asked us for advice, and for a full day we were texting back and forth. He texts like he’s writing for a genetics journal, but he was responding so quickly until I asked if he wanted to go on a date tonight and he just stopped responding and now he’s avoiding the whole bakafé!”

“Okay, I’m aware I’m not the best at positive thinking, but don’t you think there are alternative explanations for this? Maybe he got called away on fieldwork, or had a family emergency. Or you asked him out, his brain went all ‘Windows Error.exe’ and he threw his phone into the sink.”

Patton looked at Virgil oddly. “Why would he do that to his phone? Is that something that happens normally?”

“Well, no, but I almost did that when Roman texted me the first time,” Virgil muttered, blushing.

“OhhHHHhh that is so cute!” Patton squealed, brightening. “You’re right, kiddo. I shouldn’t focus on only the worst possibilities. Thanks for taking care of your silly old dad.”

“Anytime, Padre. And you’re not silly, you’re just relentlessly positive. You know I appreciate that, except for when you’re covering up your own feelings. Did you need any help with the pastry before I go back to Remy?”

Patton finally noticed the mess on his bench. “Oh my powdered donuts! This is useless. Oh well, guess I’ll need to re-laminate and start again. I won’t keep you here for that, kiddo, it’s pretty tedious. You go take something from the hot case for yourself, though. You’re not avoiding Remy, are you?”

“I won’t be once he stops threatening to make money off my hair.”

Patton’s eyes suddenly flew up and widened. “VIRGE! YOUR HAIR! Congrats on the cool colorful crown!”

Virgil snickered. “Thanks, Pat. I thought you might appreciate it. And it’s all thanks to Talyn for their help with choosing a color and making it actually look good.”

“Hmm, the purple though… that gives me a peri-twinkling of an idea! The pastry dough will have to wait - I need to go bake something. Thank you again, Virgil. You’re my favorite son!”

* * *

After the lunch rush, Virgil wandered back to the bakery. Roman had the day off, so had yet to come in, and Virgil was bored.

Patton was putting the finishing touches on a new display of muffins. A chalk sign proclaimed these were a new variety of Jam-Packed Muffins, filled with a jelly that was a made from a hybrid fruit of blackberry and raspberry.

“‘ _Logan_ berry’ muffins? Wow, I am really feeling the cuteness welling up inside me. Or maybe that’s vomit,” Virgil drawled.

Patton just grinned. “That’s why I have the scientific name of the berries here as well. It’s not pandering if it’s science!”

“We both know it’s _extra_ pandering if it’s science. Actually, has he come in yet? I haven’t seen him.”

Patton wouldn’t meet the other man’s eyes, instead fiddling with the sign and adding extra flourishes with his bright purple chalk. “I… haven’t seen him. Or gotten a text yet. Wouldn’t his phone be fixed by now, if that was the issue?”

“Pat, it’ll be okay - I’m still sure he’s not trying to turn you down. You didn’t see how nervous he was about talking to you. My whole first week here was a never-ending parade of watching him try to be subtle about checking you out. He’s just bad at words.”

Patton sighed, and smiled weakly. “You’re right. I’m trying to not worry.”

The café bell rang, and Virgil looked over at the door. His face lit up as he saw Roman rolling in, auburn hair mussed from the wind outside.

Patton giggled as Virgil practically sprinted back to the café counter.

“Hello, you,” Roman drawled. Virgil felt an involuntary shiver. It was just not fair how attractive this man was. Maybe Remy had a point - if someone as gorgeous as Roman was in any way attracted to him, maybe his looks weren’t as blah as he’d assumed.

“...hey,” he managed to squeak out. “So, uh. Does it still look okay in person? My hair, I mean?”

“It is positively iridescent, my delightful macchi-hot-to. Oh, also, can you you make macchiatos? I learned about this new drink that I’m just jazzed to try.”

“Yeah, macchiatos aren’t too bad. What did you want?”

“A jumbo, half-whole milk, one quarter 1%, one quarter non-fat, extra hot caramel macchiato with 1 and a half shots decaf, 2 and a half regular, with whip, 2 packets of splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon.”

Virgil just stared. “What the fuck, Ro. Where did you hear about this drink, a Top Ten Drinks to Make Baristas Hate You list?”

Roman grinned, then laughed outright. “How did you know? Ahhh, you caught me, I just wanted to see if I could order it with a straight face. Nah, I’ll just have another caramel surprise. That one’s my good luck charm, after all.”

Virgil blushed faintly as he smiled and started the drink that had started his flirtation with this incredible man.

“So, did you miss me this morning?” Roman asked, leaning over to watch Virgil’s deft hands go from steam wand to gasket, not spilling a drop of liquid. “Was the café gray and bereft without my signature charm and wit?”

“I wish you _had_ been here this morning, Remy is threatening to all but marry me off to the highest bidder at the Crypt. He said that heartbreak is good for business?”

“I will defend your honor, dear Virgil, fear not,” Roman said, posing dramatically. “I will fight back the adoring, crazed hordes and also Remy, that tricky minx. You need no longer fear, Roman Augustus is here!”

The afternoon sun beating through the windows gilded Roman’s silhouette in golden light. Virgil suddenly had a burning urge to wear a dramatic ballgown and watch this man slay ogres in his name. All other thoughts and worries melted away as he gazed at the swoop of soft hair, the shine in his hazel eyes, the elegant curve of his arm and back…

“Virgil, I need your help!”

Patton’s voice, laced with nerves edging on fear, interrupted his reverie and Roman’s pose. Without a word they both immediately rushed to the bakery.

“Pat, what’s wrong?”

“Logan texted back.”

Roman’s eyebrows waggled. “Need some help composing the perfect romantic missive, Padre?”

“No, it’s… I don’t know, this might be just paranoid and crazy, but I don’t think Logan sent this text,” Patton said.

“Paranoid and crazy? Patton, stealing my thing, no big deal…” Virgil snarked, taking the offered phone from the baker’s hands. He did a double take as he looked at the screen. 

> _Sent Yesterday Afternoon_
> 
> Patton Corwan (Crumb On In): Hel-Lo!  
>  P: You know I always enjoy seeing you in the bakafé, but I’d like to see you outside of work, if you’d be interested.  
> P: How does a pasta dinner tomorrow night sound, at that cute Italian place on Magnolia street? My treat :)
> 
> _Just now_
> 
> Logan <3: A date night sounds so good!   
>  L: But :( I procrastinated some work I really need to get done. I’ll be at the office late tonight.   
> L: Let’s take a rain check though, okay cutie? Love you!

Virgil frowned as he passed the phone to Roman. Eyebrows immediately vanished into auburn hair as the other man regarded the odd exchange.

“I’m no expert on this Mr. Abacus Finch of yours, but this seems rather out of character,” Roman commented. “Did he hit his head particularly hard? Or is someone else using his phone?”

Virgil felt his stomach drop at the hypothetical Roman mentioned. He’d seen this exact scenario, and hadn’t made the connection until now. _CrapcrapcrapfuckfuckfuckSHIT not now! It’s only been two days, I’m not ready for Roman to already be dragged into this,_ he thought desperately. _Why couldn’t that snake of a sorcerer wait just a little longer?_

Roman caught his eye. “Hey, Hot Topic, did you suddenly apply more foundation or is something wrong?”

Virgil shook his head. “I… I don’t think Logan hit his head. Or at least, he didn’t hit his head and then also send this text.”

“You think someone else did? Do you think it’s…” Roman’s voice trailed off as he made a vague gesture that was clearly supposed to connote ‘evil’. It wasn’t one of his more elegant attempts, but given the circumstances, it was understandable.

Virgil nodded in response to the unfinished question. Roman gulped and looked down. “This is it, huh. Okay. I guess I’d better be ready then.”

Patton looked between them, gesturing at himself. “Guess who has ten fingers and is very confused! What is ‘it’? Do you know who texted me? Is Logan okay?”

“Pat, remember when I asked you for advice? That was about this, I think. Roman might be the best positioned of any of us to find Lo and make sure he’s safe.”

Patton looked nervous, but nodded determinedly. “What can I do to help?”

Roman looked at the phone again. “It seems to me that Mr. Steal Yo’ Boy is at Logan’s office. Or will be, after work hours. The bakafé closes soon, right?”

Virgil nodded. “We have less than an hour left ‘til close.”

“I think we can risk waiting to go over until then,” Roman said, checking his watch. “Plus, that’s when the sun starts going down. If Logan isn’t the one texting, but his phone is being used, I’m going to made a guess that this creep will need shadows to hide in.”

“We’re going to wait? What if Logan is in more danger? What do we do between now and then?” Patton wasn’t used to being this nervous, and he did not deal with it well. He was already shifting from foot to foot, eyeing the bakery door like he was considering dashing out at any moment.

Virgil put a hand on the baker’s shoulder. “Logan won’t be in any _more_ danger an hour from now than he is at the moment. Trust me on this. If we go search for him randomly, we might miss him entirely. Until it’s dark, we’ll keep working. Pat, why don’t you show Roman how to help with edible decorations? He’s artistic and has a the sweet tooth of a five-year-old in a candy shop, he’ll be a natural.”

Roman gasped indignantly, a hand artfully splayed on his chest. “I do _not_ act like a five-year old,” he said with a sniff. “I am _at least_ seven, give me some credit.”

As they’d both hoped, Patton smiled weakly and led Roman around the counter. Both Virgil and Roman cared a lot about their gentle friend. Even if Roman had only occasionally met Logan, the scientist clearly made Patton happy.

No one should interfere with Patton being happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d always thought that Logan’s question in Crofter’s The Musical was a joke, but it turns out there actually are such things are real loganberries: _Rubus × loganobaccus_. I learned something new because of this story, Logan would be so proud! You know. Wherever he is.
> 
> Corwan, Patton’s last name, is an old English name that means ‘friend of the heart’  
> Augustus, Roman’s last name, means regal, great ruler, etc. He’s royalty, we love him.
> 
> Yes, that is the author’s note you get on this while you wait for the next chapter :)


	20. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton, Virgil, and Roman set off to find Logan.

Roman led the way through the evening air as he, Virgil, and Patton all walked as quickly as they could to Logan’s lab. The walk was quiet, but every member of their group could feel the tension of collective worry.

Roman fretted that he wouldn’t be enough, even with his destiny foretold - what if he made the wrong choice? What if he’d watched too many Disney movies and was about to find out that being a princely hero wasn’t as easy as they made it look? How could he have possibly thought he was prepared for this? But now that it was happening, how could he possibly give up? He’d made his choice that sunset evening, sitting next to Virgil. What at the time had felt like a moving act of bravery and romanticism now appeared to be edging on stupidity. But he was bound to his destiny now, and he refused to let his friends down. Even if there were nervous butterflies in his stomach and ice shards in his veins. No matter what happened to him in the process, he would see this through.

Virgil tried to slow his frantically beating heart as he realized just how much danger his friends could be walking into, and how powerless he would be to explicitly warn them of danger without truly and utterly breaking the Sages’ Law. Yes, he knew he’d skirted the edges before, maybe dipped a toe into the grey areas, or bent the boundaries to fit what his conscience told him. But to warn against specific likely futures for the express purpose of having the subject alter their actions to avoid them? That was a full break. Virgil wasn’t sure he could go that far. The risk was so high - would it do his friends any good if he warned them of one danger if he was punished by the Sages and unable to help them for future dangers? Better to play it safe, or as safe as he dared.

Patton was somewhat worried for himself, and unsure how he’d be of any help, but he was absolutely frantic over the prospect of Logan being even the slightest bit hurt. Logan brought him stories of the wonders of science and the potential it held. Patton loved to watch the man’s eyes light up as he contemplated the discoveries that were waiting to be found in the cosmos, in the oceans, even inside our very cells. The idea that something or someone had taken that light away from him crowded out all thoughts of self-preservation or curiosity. He could wait for everything to be explained until the scientist was safely eating Jam-Packed Muffins once more.

They arrived to see the entire office building dark, with no vehicles parked outside, and no sounds to be heard. Even the neighboring buildings all seemed to be empty.

“Should we split up and search?” Roman asked nervously.

“That never works out for the Mystery Gang,” Patton replied with a shaky chuckle. “Shag and Scoob always get cornered by the monster. Let’s stay together, just quietly.”

Virgil nodded his assent. He needed to stay with Roman. He needed to make sure that his friend wouldn’t make any of the choices that could lead to the worst outcomes. He knew he would be pushing the line of what was acceptable, but if he was close, he could say he’d seen the danger coming without magic, right? That was still grey area. He’d take it.

The small group walked cautiously around the corner of the windowless two-story building. Roman scanned the alleys and side streets for movement, walking defensively in a wider arc than his friends.

“Over there,” Patton said suddenly, his voice just above a whisper. “I think that door has been broken open.”

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” Roman asked, eyeing the dark doorway and the fragments of glass on the pavement in front of it. Virgil pulled a black Maglite out of his backpack. “Here, I’ve been using this in the café’s back room and basement. You’re leading us - you take it.”

With a nod, Roman took the heavy metal object and flicked it on, and walked slowly through the door.

* * *

The execution of Dante’s plan had not been working out as well as it could have. He’d found the right lab, as planned, but would these infernal humans never cease making his life difficult?

The lab doors were locked. And no easy, pickable lock either. Not even a good old pickpocket-the-keycard-while-no-one’s-looking lock. No, this uppity lab had biometric scanners, responding only to a full hand print of the authorized workers. He’d staked out the place for days, waiting for someone to come to work so he could follow behind them. But four days had gone by, with not one person entering the building.

He’d gotten so frustrated he’d tried to break his way in, but then the alarms had sounded. The neighboring offices had security guards, not to mention eager bystanders. He’d been almost cornered, and had had to shapeshift to hide in the interior shadows. He had resolved to return at night next time, to avoid detection.

But what he had noticed within the flurry of people was the person speaking with the security service and police. He was tall, with sable hair,  thick-rimmed glasses, and a no-nonsense manner. As he spoke, he seemed to have a nervous tic of frequently re-adjusting his blue-and-black tie, or resettling his glasses on his nose. The man had reached out a hand to the scanners, and with a flash of light, the doors had slid open, smooth as butter.

_Aha,_ Dante had thought. _That was the key all along. These gloves aren’t what that silly prophecy meant. Here, on this man’s hand - the inadvertent prints!_

All he had needed to do was wait for an opportune moment.

* * *

The three friends were still searching.

They’d made their way around the first floor and found it empty, and heard nothing. Patton was really quite nervous. “We’re sure he’ll be here, right? What if it was all a misunderstanding and Logan’s just… at home?”

Virgil shook his head. “I’m sure they’re both here - Logan AND the one who took his phone. I hope we find Logan first though. We just need to keep looking.”

“Careful, you two. Stay quiet. Stay close,” Roman ordered firmly but softly. He would keep them safe. It wasn’t _their_ destiny to be in so much danger!

They found a stairwell. They could go to the second floor, or head into the basement. Patton grinned nervously. “Every scary movie has the monster downstairs. Let’s mix it up this one time and go up?”

Virgil closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember what this choice juncture had been for Roman. But he had already looked into these possibilities once, and could conceivably have remembered, right? So surely it was fine if he looked again, just a peek...

“What the ding-dong-doozy was that?” Patton whisper-yelled suddenly.

Thiota’s dreams, he hadn’t told the baker. Now wasn’t really the time. “That was me, sorry. I have. Um. Novelty contacts. Yeah. Sorry, Patton, I’ll warn you next time. And yeah, we should go up.”

Patton eyed Virgil warily. “Virgil, are  you trying to protect me or just mislead me?”

Virgil gulped. “I… a bit of both. Sorry Pat. I promise, I will explain. Just… not right this second? It’s complicated, or I swear I would.”

Patton contemplated the purple-haired man for a moment, then sighed and nodded.

“Are we ready to move?” Roman asked.

“We are. Be careful, kiddo.”

The red-and-white-clad man led them up the stairwell cautiously, flashlight shaking almost imperceptibly.

As they reached the second landing of stairs, he switched the light off. They took a moment to adjust their eyes to the dark, and Virgil held the door open as they quietly slipped into the hallway one at a time.

It was the lack of flashlight that allowed them to notice the faint glow from around the corner. It was just enough to light their faces as they proceeded towards it. Roman waved at the other two to hang back and keep an eye out behind them as he crept towards the corner, edging his face up slowly, then whipping his full body around. A moment passed, and he flagged Virgil and Patton to follow.

The blue glow was from a console next to an open sliding door. The square glass pane had something on the surface. They approached it and saw that it was powder, in the shape of a hand print. The constant flashes of light across the surface seemed to indicate that the powdery prints were keeping the door open.

Beyond the door, there were shadowy outlines of medical-looking instruments and tall benches. They could make out the small pinpricks of light and regular blinks from huge stacks of computer hard drives. The three friends looked at each other silently, and exchanged determined nods. This was the lab. If they would find Logan and his kidnapper anywhere, it would be here. And judging by the disturbed papers on the ground, something - or someone - had been dragged through the lab recently.

Roman held the flashlight close. The heavy metal in his hands was somewhat comforting, even if he still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t freeze when it came time to act. No. He would _not_ freeze. This was for Logan, and for Patton and Virgil, and all his fellow humans. He’d do whatever he was able to. No, screw that. He’d do whatever it took.

He led the way deeper into the lab, and finally noticed a sound. Light taps, and occasional clicks. Someone was using a computer in another room, but slowly. Someone who didn’t frequently use one, perhaps. Roman stepped quietly, approaching the door. He hesitated a moment, confirming that the sounds were indeed in this room. He couldn’t risk a glance - he might be seen, even in the near-dark. He set his shoulders, and charged with a yell.

“Evildoer, begone!”

Time became a blur, following the yell, but Virgil saw every moment in perfect clarity. Roman rounded the corner, brandishing the heavy flashlight like a club. A desk sat in the middle of the room with a glowing screen and even more stacks of hard drives. He saw two human-shaped forms. One was Dante, his shocked face in stark relief from the harsh light of the screen. His true scaly form was more obvious now, scales spreading up above his collar onto his cheek. The other figure was a motionless form only visible as half a torso and legs behind a tall lab bench.

Roman rushed forward at the scaled sorcerer, knocking him out of his chair to the floor and swinging the flashlight at the other man’s head. It connected with a solid _thwonk_ , earning an angered hiss from its victim. The blow seemed to knock Dante out of his shock. With a snarl, he wrenched Roman off of him and tried to throw him across the room. The younger man recovered and grabbed the sorcerer’s arms, holding him back. The two struggled, neither gaining an edge, when sibilant whispers starting pouring from the dark-clad man’s mouth. A glowing form started appearing in the air, starting shapeless and undefined before sharpening into a chain.

Virgil blanched. He recognized those magic chains, and no good outcomes were possible if Dante succeeded in binding Roman. _Pythia’s veil, this better not count as breaking the Law,_ he thought, and flung a nearby test tube at the sorcerer’s head. The distraction was enough, and the sorcerer’s grip on his multiple spells shattered. Roman gasped as the hands he’d been gripping disappeared as the dark-clad man shrank, writhing, back into a furious adder.

“Careful - he’s still venomous!” Virgil warned, approaching cautiously. Roman steeled himself and grabbed the adder just past the head so the fangs couldn’t reach him. He picked up the fallen flashlight and raised it, aiming carefully. With a final smack, he brought it crashing down on the snake’s head. It spasmed, and went still.

There was a silent moment, the only sound deep breathing and frantic heartbeats.

They all started as Patton, still at the doorway, flicked on a light. They blinked, taking in the scene. Roman had acquired a scratch on his forehead and bruises on his hands, but seemed otherwise unhurt - just shaken. Virgil had cut his hand on the test tube, but for the life of him couldn’t remember how that had happened. And the dark form behind the lab bench was Logan. For a horrible moment they stared, not moving, until they saw the chest rise and fall.

The scientist’s glasses were gone, his hair disheveled. A purple bruise was spreading from his temple, and his wrists were red, chafed, and bound. Roman pulled out his multitool and cut the bonds as the man stirred, waking up.

Patton ran to him with a cry. Kneeling beside him, he swept up the brunette in a fierce hug.

Logan looked around, confused, then looked up into Patton’s eyes.

“Thank god you’re alright,” Patton murmured. “I’ve been worried sick.”

Logan gave him a weary smile. “I’m fine now that you’re all here. There’s no need to worry, Patton. Wouldn’t want you to go... _Lo_ -co.”

“Logan… did you just make a pun? On your own name? Just to make me feel better?”

Logan’s slight smile and nod was visible for no more than a second before Patton’s soft lips connected with his. Shocked, Logan froze. Patton drew back, red-faced. “I’m sorry, that was so rude of me, I didn’t even ask and you’re injured…”

Logan cut him off by reaching up a bruised arm to stroke the wavy golden hair at the nape of the other man’s neck, resting his forehead against his. “There is no need to apologize, Patton. I- it was not at all unwanted. And… I would like it very much if you were to do that again.”

Patton’s eyes widened as an enormous smile spread across his face. He leaned down and carefully kissed Logan again, still gentle. Logan eagerly kissed back, pulling the smaller man in closer.

Virgil and Roman tried to back out of the room as quietly as possible, neither wanting to interrupt their friends’ moment. They couldn’t help grinning at each other all the while, though, mouthing “I knew it!” and “Finally!”

Eventually Logan and Patton broke off, smiling at each other with a wonderful light in their eyes. Logan suddenly noticed their abrupt lack of company and cleared his throat. “Um. Apologies for the… diversion,” he called out.

“No apologies needed,” Roman added slyly, poking his head from around the corner. “I don’t think they’re entirely sincere.”

Logan blushed, smiling at Patton again. “You may be correct in that evaluation. I believe the appropriate phrase is ‘ _sorry not sorry_ ’. But I suspect you may need my expertise still in figuring out what my attacker was attempting to do.”

They all gathered around the computer Dante had been using. Logan frowned. “Without my glasses, I can’t read anything. But we can’t be sure whatever he was doing won’t be undetectable if we come back later.”

Patton wordlessly removed his own glasses and deposited them on Logan’s nose. The scientist looked up in surprise, then smiled sweetly up at the baker. “We have the same prescription. Thank you, Patton.”

Virgil almost rolled his eyes at the cuteness, but he couldn’t lie to himself. It was just adorable, and his only frustration was that he wanted the level of affection too. But seeing this whole mess through was more important at this particular moment.

Logan turned back to the computer, eyes narrowing as he focused on the data displayed there. His brow furrowed as he clicked around the screen through other views and analytic tools. Suddenly, his eyes widened again.

“I… had no idea this was possible, with our data. How did we not see this trend before?”

Roman leaned in. “What is it? What was he trying to find?”

“What he _did_ find. Somehow, my whole team hadn’t noticed this. He found a pattern of genetic abnormalities. We must have thought they were statistical errors, or different individual syndromes. But he mapped them. He was very close to mapping the entire world. I just can’t tell what exactly the abnormalities are.”

_They’re… me. And him. The magic folk. I never knew we were genetically different, though I guess that makes sense,_ Virgil thought. He glanced at the map currently displayed on the screen. It was their town. To his immense relief, only two points of data were visible there. This town didn’t deserve the hijinks and risks of constant magical activity. “Logan, I know this sounds vague and weird but…is there any way to make this disappear? This particular abnormality is a distinct class of people that includes me. If it were to become public knowledge, I and people like me would be at extreme risk. Can you do anything to make sure no one can find us all? Whether it’s someone like Dante again, or less-friendly genetic scientists?”

Logan turned, looking at Virgil. “I… can try. If my team hadn’t found this, there’s a good chance no one else has yet - we have the most sophisticated collection method in the world. I can’t alter the data - this is my life’s work, and it would be highly unethical. But I can mark this trend as ‘likely unreliable’ and exclude them from further analysis.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if I can explain how hard it is to know that an entire genetically-distinct class of humanity exists, and is reflected in our data, and I can’t research it further, or even tell my colleagues what it is we’re not researching. You’re _sure_ it’s necessary?”

Virgil went a bit pale. “Yes, it is very necessary. There are no good outcomes if that information goes public,” he said, and winced as he realized he was sharing magical knowledge again.

“You helped save me, and I believe you. I expect to receive a thorough explanation at a later point, but for now, I’ll do what I can,” Logan sat, adjusting Patton’s glasses on his nose as he focused on the screen. The blond baker came up behind him and rested his hands on Logan’s shoulders, unable to make out what he was doing but wanting to support him.

Virgil exhaled, finally. He felt like he’d been holding his breath since the moment he’d left the bakafé with Patton and Roman. He looked around and saw the latter slumped at the lab bench.

“Roman, are you alright?” he asked quietly, coming over to sit beside him.

Roman looked up. He looked drained, but his mouth shaped itself into a smile. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be? I succeeded in my quest and saved the day. I bested an evildoer.” His bravado crumbled. “He _turned into a snake._ I hit him on the head and killed him as a snake. _Oh my god I killed someone I KILLED someone_ ,” he gasped out, burying his head in his hands.

Virgil blanched. “Roman, it’s okay. It was self-defense! He was attacking you back. And he would have hurt you more given the chance. I know the shock is a lot, but it will be okay, I promise.” He tentatively reached an arm around the red-and-white form, and squeezed reassuringly. “I’m sure all the Disney princes felt bad when they defeated their villains, even if they knew it was the right thing to do. Because you’re a good man, and you don’t take violence lightly.”

Roman sniffed. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. And I know you really are good.” Virgil hesitated, then offered, “Do you want to come to my place and relax? We can watch cartoons or whatever you want, get your mind off all this.”

“Virgil, you can’t fool me, you just want me to come home with you,” Roman winked, brightening just a little as he continued to breath shakily. “I see right through you! And… I would love that.”

Virgil smiled back, and was about to respond when Logan spoke up from the computer. “It’s done. Or at least, all I can do is done.”

The last bit of tension he’d been holding melted out of Virgil’s shoulders. “Cassandra’s blessings, what a relief. Thank you, Logan.”

He stood, looking around at his three friends. They all bore effects of the day, whether physical or mental. But they’d survived, together. And Roman had defeated Dante, just as he’d been destined to. He was no longer bound to any future. He was free.

Virgil smiled with relief. “Let’s go home.”

Logan shut down the console, and they all walked out of the lab, pausing to wipe down the scanner and close the door. Virgil and Roman led the way, pretending to not notice that Logan and Patton had hung back to exchange another kiss or two before holding hands as they followed.

They exited the building and split in half, Virgil leading Roman back to his small apartment, Patton bringing Logan to his place “to get his bruises taken care of.”

None of them had thought to check the lab floor as they left. The tiled space that had been occupied by a seemingly-dead adder was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, all those loose ends are definitely cleaned up now, right? Time for six chapters of fluff and definitely nothing else!
> 
> As a writer, action scenes/fights are the hardest thing for me to write. How did I do? Feedback/suggestions are greatly appreciated.


	21. You Were Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They survived their confrontation with the sorcerer. At long last, Virgil and Roman have time to relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairings: Prinxiety, like a LOT  
> Chapter Warnings: Steven Universe spoilers (vague), graphic kissing, allusions to smut, swearing, overwhelming fluff

Roman had barely made it through the door and shed his shoes before he’d collapsed happily onto Virgil’s couch. He was exhausted. But he was here with Virgil, and they were going to watch cartoons. That would be good.

Virgil eyed his friend. The bags under his eyes were starting to look familiar. “Hey, we don’t need to stay up if you’re too tired. Do you need to sleep? It’s been a bit of a day.”

“What? Who’s tired, I’m not tired. I am so awake,” Roman sputtered. “C’mon, Little Bo Sleep, let’s watch some gay space rocks. I’m…not even a little… tired,” he covered his mouth as he yawned.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah okay. You fulfill one world-saving prophecy and now you’re immune to sleep, makes sense.”  
“It’s true,” Roman mumbled, snuggling into the couch, yawns still punctuating his speech. “I am invulnerable to the... weaknesses of man. I scoff at the petty needs of... the lesser beings around me. The Sandman has no… power here. Sleep is for the... weak...”

Virgil glanced over. Soft auburn hair fell over eyes that were now fully closed. Seconds later, he heard a light snore. _He is so ridiculous,_ Virgil thought with a fond smile.

He slipped his arms underneath Roman’s sleeping form and picked him up, carrying him over to his bed and depositing him gently among the blankets. He pulled a star-bedecked comforter over the sleeping man, who made a small sound of contentment and pulled it closer to his chest. Virgil caressed the man’s cheek softly, then grabbed another blanket and went to go sleep on the couch.

After all, being a Sage with a heck of a crush didn’t mean he wasn’t still a gentleman.

* * *

Virgil didn’t really sleep that night, but then again, he didn’t need to. He’d texted Remy, though, telling him he really needed the day off if that was alright.

Remy had responded with a string of eyes, eggplants, and fingers pointing and doing the ‘OK’ symbol, all emojis without a written word to be found. Virgil was confused, but it seemed to be approval, and he decided to not question it.

He was up and puttering in the kitchen the next morning when a voice suddenly asked, “Why am I in your bed?”

He turned to see Roman sitting up, sleepy-eyed with very messy bedhead. He kept looking back and forth between couch and bed, confused.

“Because I wasn’t about to let you sleep on the couch after the day you’d had, ya goof. I moved you after you fell asleep. Right in the middle of telling me how you weren’t tired, I might add. I’m never letting you forget that.”

“Moved… you carried me? You can _carry_ me?” Roman levered himself out of bed to come poke at Virgil’s arms. “How are these skinny things that strong? Is this part of the maaaaaaggicccc?”

Okay, so Roman was a little weird in the morning. Not to mention this was the most unkempt Virgil had ever seen him. It was… _oh sweet stars_ , it was so endearing.

“I don’t think it’s magic. It’s definitely not anything I have to concentrate on. I just, I don’t know, picked you up.”

“Ohhh do it again I wanna see,” Roman said excitedly.

Virgil rolled his eyes, smiling. “If you insist-”

“I do!”

Without another word, he placed a hand on the taller man’s back and knelt to put his arm under his knees, sweeping him into his arms. Roman yelped and threw both arms around Virgil’s neck as the purple-haired man laughed at him for being so easily scared.

“See, Princey? Easy. I could do this all day,” Virgil said with a smile. That was when they both realized that Virgil was now carrying Roman princess-style and their faces were suddenly incredibly close together.

Virgil’s face immediately went red and he practically dropped him on the spot, but managed to set him down gently and quickly went back to making coffee.

“So yeah I can carry you and I. Um. Breakfast?” he asked, trying to calm himself enough to use the french press.

“Sorry, what?”

“Can I get you any breakfast? Coffee is breakfast, right? Are eggs? Or sandwiches? I haven’t really figured this part of humanity out yet, Patton has been feeding me pastries since my first day and I’ve been too intimidated to figure it out on my own. Breakfast is an enigma.”

Roman chuckled and hugged Virgil around the shoulders from behind, his face still a little pink. “Never fear, Dark & Stormy. I’ll help you in a minute. First, I have _got_ to get a hairbrush. What even _is_ my hair right now, right?”

“Don’t ask me, you always look good,” Virgil said. He was turned towards the counter, but still caught the blush on Roman’s cheeks as he retreated to the bathroom.

* * *

It had been a good day. The mystery of breakfast had been partially unlocked (Pancakes: yes. Coffee: yes, but not on its own. No Virgil, I don’t care what Remy tells you, coffee is not a meal. Eggs: yes, but not always. Sandwiches: yes, but they have to have eggs), and Roman had been _very_ excited to finally start watching _Steven Universe_. And to watch Virgil’s reactions.

Hours later, they had binged through almost three seasons with only a short break for a lunch and a much longer one for processing that “ _Garnet was lesbians the whole time???!!”_

Virgil was thoroughly enjoying himself, even through the sad and dramatic moments. He had not cried, at all, not at any point, he did not know what Roman was teasing him about.

As the day went on, though, he found himself gazing more and more at Roman, who was currently tearing up as Steven was saved from the depths of space by his family of Crystal Gems.

 _If I could begin to be_  
_Half of what you think of me_  
_I could do about anything_ _  
I could even learn how to love_

Virgil sighed and quickly looked away. As he did so, he missed the movement to his right as Roman looked gently back at him.

 _When I see the way you act_  
_Wondering when I’m coming back_  
_I could do about anything  
I could even learn to love like you_

Roman tentatively reached out a hand to lay on Virgil’s, who looked up, shocked at the touch. Roman leaned over slowly and kissed his cheek. The violet-haired man blushed, and turned his head to return the cheek kiss.

Roman smiled into the shorter man’s eyes. “I don’t want to push, but I would _really_ like to kiss you more. Is that okay?”

“We’d have to stop watching the show, though. I was promised a full binge-watch,” Virgil said with a slight smirk, badly attempting to conceal how he _very much would like that, yes._

“Virge, you adorable emo dream, this may be the one time in my life I could not care less about any cartoon show,” Roman quipped back, and pulled Virgil into an embrace. He still moved gently, letting them both relax or pull back if they needed, before his lips found Virgil’s.

_...oh._

If he hadn’t been blushing before, Virgil was definitely blushing now. He was acutely aware of every spot where Roman’s body was in contact with his. His upper torso, his arms, his back, and _oh sweetness_ , his lips. Roman was so gentle as he held him, but under that softness was all firm muscle and steadiness. That steadiness calmed him like nothing he’d ever known, and made him feel so… _safe_. He wanted to stay here, wrapped up in Roman’s arms, forever.

Roman broke off the kiss at length, panting just the slightest bit. He was blushing, too. “I’ve been waiting to do that since the moment I met you,” he murmured. “Those beautiful eyes, and you looking at me like a deer in the headlights. But the reality…” he kissed Virgil’s nose, grinning, “the reality is so much better than I could have pictured.”

“Even with everything that’s happened? Scary nighttime showdowns and me being a secretly magical cougar?”

“ _Especially_ with you being a secretly magical cougar. What can I say, I like being flattered. Though, now that you mention it, I’m still a little… confused, I guess. About the magic.”

Virgil was tense. He understood the confusion, obviously, but was all too aware how insane his entire existence sounded to a human. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?” he asked.

“There’s… a lot, but the biggest is why was I surprised by this? Why have I never heard of there being real magic? Magic really exists, and has throughout history? Why doesn’t humanity know, or remember?” Roman didn’t appear angry, only curious, as he lightly ran his fingers through Virgil’s purple hair.

“Magical beings used to be a lot more prominent, but they started fading as the human population grew. So a lot of times, there were no humans around to remember them. Or so few that the recorded events morphed into folk stories and fairytales. And Sages like me were often in isolation or just acting as incorporeal beings from the ether, influencing without being physically present.”

“If fairytales are real, does that mean fairies are too?” Roman’s eyes were shining with curiosity. Virgil had been so nervous about sharing this information, but with Roman, it felt safe to.

“They were. I don’t think any are still alive, unfortunately. But there used to be all sorts of creatures, like fairies and dragons. Unicorns, too, but I only ever met one herd my entire life, when I was living in the highlands. There were also not-so-nice creatures, like ogres and specters and ghouls. Those, I don’t miss as much.”

“What about vampires? Is _Dracula_ secretly a history book?”

“There definitely were vampires. I only ever met one, though, when I was very young and he… he was nothing like Dracula, to say the least. I met him at a drunken dance party, for one. And he didn’t prey on humans. From the future I saw for him, he never did, right up to his dying day.”

Roman sat back, contemplating this new information. “It’s funny, I always wanted there to be magic in the world, and adventures, and shining knights with glorious quests. Turns out all of that exists, I was just born a bit late for it. At least I had a quest of my own, in a way. Even if I was absolutely terrified the whole time.”

Virgil smiled, cupping Roman’s cheek. “Fun fact: so were all those shining knights. You ever heard that metaphor about swans? Gliding along, looking all stately and elegant above water, but below the surface it’s just frantic webbed feet churning as fast as possible? That’s how all heroes feel. But they make it through. Just like you did.”

“That actually does make me feel better. Guess I’m a swan now,” Roman said, laughing. “Fear me, evil ones, I will peck your eyes out. Honk honk, motherfucker.”

Virgil snorted, then laughed outright, particularly as he saw Roman’s expression, which was apparently his best impression of a fierce waterfowl. Grinning, he lay his head on Roman’s shoulder. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off. You really are the most amazing man I’ve ever met. No magic needed.”

Roman nuzzled his purple head. “And you’re the most amazing man _I’ve_ ever met. Magic or no.”

They both sat there, holding each other and basking in the warmth of their mutual affection when Virgil lifted his head. “Roman, I know it’s only been a week since I gave you my number, and this is probably really clingy and weird to ask so soon, and if you would rather not talk about this yet then that’s fine just please tell me I promise I won’t be hurt-”

“Virge, breathe. What do you want to ask?”

“Am I your… I mean, would you be my… I mean. Agh.” He took a deep breath and asked without opening his eyes, “Are we dating? As boyfriends?” About to continue explaining, or rather, babbling, he stopped himself, and opened his eyes.

To his delight, Roman looked absolutely touched. “I wanted to ask you first, but I didn’t want to move too quickly. I would be _thrilled_ to call you my boyfriend, Virgil.”

“Oh, thank the stars. Google has been _really_ unhelpful when it comes to this stuff. Almost everything is written for women dating men and it’s all about ‘what feels right,’ and I have nothing to compare to.”

“Virge - you looked up online advice on how to ask me to be your boyfriend?” Roman asked, looking sidelong at the smaller man.

“Oh no is that weird? I knew it would be weird-”

“Virgil, my sweet prince of the night, shut up,” Roman interrupted him, grinning. “It’s adorable. As a matter of fact,” he added, releasing his boyfriend (boyfriend!) and standing. “I hereby declare that I have The Cutest Boyfriend™ in this entire city!” He struck a triumphant pose.

Virgil couldn’t help it. He giggled until he laughed out loud, and laughed until he snorted. Roman looked for a second like he might decide to be offended at this reception to his grand declaration before giggling as well, falling back into the couch cushions.

They turned Steven Universe back on, but Virgil would be lying if he didn’t admit that he absorbed a _lot_ less of the action as they progressed. It was still enjoyable, but Roman had taken to stroking a hand through his hair down to his neck and the effect on his thoughts was a puddle of melted goo and hearts.

But Roman stopped petting him for the last few episodes, insisting that Virgil not miss a minute until the final cliffhanger been revealed. Gay weddings were all well and good, but anything that made Virgil stop kissing his boyfriend (boyfriend!) was definitely homophobia and he needed to correct this personal offense as soon as possible.

Roman looked over to see Virgil’s glower as the last credits rolled and pulled him fully into his lap as their lips met once more. “Did you think I was ignoring you, stormcloud?” he murmured in between kisses.

“Roman, please, do me a favor and shut up,” Virgil responded with a breathless growl, leaning in further. Blood was pounding in his veins and cheeks and, well, other places. He wrapped his arms around the man underneath him, mouths locked in slick, wet kisses that sent shivers up and down his spine. Roman was doing _something_ with his tongue that turned into biting Virgil’s lip and dragged an involuntary moan out of the Sage’s throat. His hands were scrabbling at the auburn-haired man’s back, trying to somehow get even closer as his slipped them under the man's t-shirt to make direct skin contact.

The sudden sensation made Roman jump slightly and break off their kiss. “Virge, did you want…?”

Underneath his purple bangs, Virgil’s eyes were dilated and dark, “Ro, yes, I _want_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Roman half-moaned. “That’s… god, that is _hot_ and I want nothing more than to say _yes right now_ but I… we can’t. Or shouldn’t. Not tonight. Too much has happened and it was just yesterday that we were fighting that snake and I don’t… I want _this_ , all of this, to be perfect. Not just endorphins and throwing caution out the window. Is… is that okay?”

Virgil dragged himself off his boyfriend, every inch of his body complaining at the sudden lack of heat. “Yes, of course, dear one. I… you’re right. Waiting would be healthier. And you’re worth it.”

Roman leaned in closed and dragged his teeth lightly down the curve of Virgil’s ear, startling a strangled gasp out of the other man. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ all of you this minute, right now, right here,” he murmured, grinning evilly. “I just want to take my time with you.”

“God _damn_ , Ro…” 

“And on that note,” Roman said, sitting up with a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s getting late, and I really do need to head home.”

Virgil growled, panting lightly still. “You are a goddamn tease, and I hate you very much. Boyfriends for just a few short hours and you’re already leaving?”

“Hey, I’ve already spent the night before even kissing you. Clearly our sense of timing and order is a little off,” the auburn-haired man grinned back. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the bakafé. And in your dreams tonight.”

“You’re the worst possible flirt. Text me when you’re home safe?”

“It’s a fifteen-minute walk, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I worry. Me and possibilities, Princey. I’m always going to worry.”

Roman stood to leave, but leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on Virgil’s forehead. “For you then, my favorite worrywart, of course.”

* * *

A red-and-white-clad figure was walking down the street jauntily. Whistles to a cheerful song floated in the dusky air around him, occasionally bursting into snatches of a sung tune.

 _“Therrrre’s an awful lot of awful things we could be thinking of, but for just one day let’s only think about love!”_ he trilled, spinning on one foot as he walked.

He was clearly distracted and happy.

Good for him.

The ‘distracted’ part was all his silent shadow cared about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title of this chapter was “Netflix And Chill(s Down Your Spine)”  
> Was anyone actually hoping for six chapters of fluff? Sorry ~~not sorry~~


	22. The Missing Prints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is used to being nervous, but this is ****ing _terrifying_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: **Graphic violence, Visions of Major Character Death,** Swearing
> 
> Graphic descriptions of violence from "The world twists upon itself..." to "Hands grabbed him and shook him..."
> 
> (I don't think the story as a whole needs a MCD tag, but please let me know if this is incorrect)

Virgil was used to being nervous. Kind of par for the course, when you’ve spent thousands of years watching single decisions transform the course of lives and centuries. That nervousness was the kind that paralyzed him, sent him into weeks- or years-long stupors of contemplating the butterfly effects of human life. He was also getting happily used to this new type of nervousness that spawned in Roman’s presence, this fluttery feeling that made him want to babble out all his feelings, float away in champagne bubbles, or just run into the sunset with Roman’s hand in his.

Roman hadn’t responded to any of his texts since last night, including the “Let me know when you’re home safe” text. He wasn’t sure which type of nervous he should be feeling, but he was probably going to err on the side of overwhelming terror.

He went to _How You Brewin’_ as normal, but couldn’t suppress his jitters.

“Remy, is it a bad sign that Roman isn’t texting me back?”

“Girl, chill. You _just_ started dating, don’t even worry about it.”

 _Fat chance of that,_ Virgil thought to himself. But Remy hadn’t been caught up in the drama of the past few days. _He_ wasn’t on edge, and had no reason to be.

Virgil tried not to ruminate too much through the morning rush. Any moment now, Roman would blow in, all red and white and glamorous smile, and he’d ask for something ridiculous, like a jumbo latte with 13 pumps of vanilla syrup.

Any moment now.

_Any moment._

The morning crowds left, as did Remy. Logan came in as normal, and lingered in the bakery, waiting for Patton to emerge from the back. When the baker did so, Virgil could have sworn the sun had risen again right there across the bakery counter, a solar flare of smiles reunited. Logan’s lost glasses were replaced by seldom-used contacts which only served to make it easier to see just how delighted he was to see Patton again.

Virgil, meanwhile, was checking his phone obsessively.  
_Okay, let’s assess the situation. I’ve sent a_ _lot_ _of texts. And he hasn’t responded once. So what should I do now??_

_I should send just one more text anndddd sent._

_Nostradamus, what am I DOING?_

Okay, he clearly could not handle this on his own. It was time to bring in backup. He checked quickly for customers then scuttled over to the bakery. Logan and Patton looked up at him from where they’d been holding hands as Logan leaned on the counter. Something in his face clearly told them both that this was important enough to warrant the interruption. Logan steered Virgil to an easy chair while Patton brought him an apple turnover, still warm. They both sat as close together as possible on a small couch next to Virgil’s chair and waited expectantly for him to explain.

“It’s Roman,” he blurted out. “He’s not responding. Normally I would think that you know, we just spent a whole day together and he needs a break from me but I can’t shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong. And… it might be my fault.”

Patton leaned across Logan to pat Virgil’s knee. “Kiddo, I’m sure it’s not your fault - what could you have possibly done to cause him pain?”

“It’s not what I could have done, but what someone else could have done because of how I got him involved…” Virgil put his head in his hands. This was no good. He was going to have to explain _everything_ for this to make any sense. “I asked you both for advice before, and you helped me make the right choice. At least, I think it was the right choice. And I don’t know who else to trust. Plus… you’ve both already lived through the effects.” His eyes flicked sadly to the bruise on Logan’s temple. Someone had clearly helped cover it with makeup - Virgil suspected it had been Talyn, but even their skill wasn’t quite enough to hide the swelling.

He swallowed nervously.  “I’m about to tell you both something that is going to sound incredibly weird and possibly delusional, but I swear it is all true.” Logan looked cautiously skeptical already, but Patton wasn’t showing any emotion except calm acceptance.

Virgil took a deep breath and said, “I am not human. I am an immortal being called a Sage. I can touch people’s hands and see the possible paths their life will take. As part of that power, I am obligated not to share specific details, but give only hints towards that person’s pivotal choice through riddles- the way I’ve been taught since I came into being at the Oracle of Delphi approximately 3400 years ago.”

Virgil stopped and looked up at his friends. Both were staring with wide eyes, Patton’s mouth hanging open. Neither seemed able to form a verbal response just yet, so Virgil plowed forward.

“Just over 500 years ago, I read the destiny of a sorcerer who wanted to rule the world and was willing to destroy anything or anyone who got in his way. Luckily, back then, he was defeated. Six days ago, however, I ran into him here, not too far from my apartment, and saw that he was back to try again. This man, Dante, was your kidnapper. He wanted your research to find people like me, magical beings who are still left in the world. That’s what those genetic anomalies were, Lo. They were me, and him, and all the other remaining magic folk left in the world. I thought at the lab that Roman had killed Dante in his shape-shifted snake form… but now, I’m not so sure. He’s cheated death so many times, and he will blame us - well, blame _me_ \- for being the common thread in his defeats. And I… I am so nervous that he’s gone after Roman for revenge. Or maybe just as bait. But even if it is a trap, it will work, because I cannot let anything happen to Roman, not if there is anything I can do to stop it. But I don’t know _what_ to do.”

He stopped talking and forced himself to breathe. His heart was pounding and he felt slightly delirious.

After several minutes of stunned silence in which Virgil imagined he could practically hear the bullshit alarms going off in his listeners’ minds, Logan recovered first. “Well. That is quite a lot of… new... information. Thank you for clarifying that my attacker - Dante, you said his name was? - actually did turn into a snake. I thought I’d seen a snake in the lab but was worried it was just the concussion speaking.”

“I also saw that, I thought I’d taken a blow to the _copperhead_ ,” Patton added. The pun didn’t have quite the baker’s normal level of delight, but Virgil appreciated his attempt at lightening the mood. From the twitch at the side of his mouth, Virgil could tell that Logan did too.

Logan steered back to the matter at hand. “So, let me get this straight-”

“Good luck with that,” Virgil muttered.

“You can see possible futures. And the string of events that lead to them. When you asked us for advice before, that’s what it was about? Whether or not to share what you knew.”

“I already had seen Dante’s futures, and Roman was included in them,” Virgil said, nodding.  “I was trying to decide if I should offer to look through all of Roman’s futures too, try to give him as much preparation as possible, but was worried about how once you know, you’re locked in. It makes choices a little less free because of the very fact of knowing the nature of the future you could be working towards. The question of free choice versus determinism becomes a lot less hypothetical when you see the future the way I do. I don’t know that I thanked you enough. You both helped a lot - I was so worried about Roman’s ability to make free choices in the future that I lost sight of the freedom of choice I was preventing him from having in that moment.”

Logan chewed on this information. “Your… ability, this, uh, _magic._ ” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I can’t believe I’ve spent my whole life researching the natural world and am just suddenly finding out ‘oh hey, magic exists and also your wingman is an immortal magic being.’ But, well, we can discuss this more later. Can you see where Roman is now? Or Dante, who is a _sorcerer_ , you said?”

Virgil shook his head, shame-faced. “I wish I could see him. It only works if I have direct contact, both hands on their skin. And yes, he’s a sorcerer or wizard. One of those, I’m not positive which. A human with the ability to do magic without a wand.”

“Well, if you can’t see Roman or Evil Snakey Man,” Patton offered, “why don’t you try looking for yourself? If there’s a possibility that Roman is in danger and you rescue him, you’d be able to see that in your own future, right?”

Virgil was stunned. The idea had never even occurred to him. “I… that’s… I don’t even know if that’s _possible_. It’s definitely not allowed by the Sage’s Law, which are the rules that we have sworn to follow.”

“Patton’s right,” Logan said, an approving hand on the baker’s knee. “It seems the only logical option - seek the information that is available to you before you make a decision. What would be the consequences if such an act of seeking indeed breaks this ‘Law’ but you are _able_ to do so?”

Virgil could feel his breath coming faster, his heart rate increasing. Outright _breaking_ the Law? The one constant that he’d kept as a guide for over three millennia? “My brethren would punish me, somehow. I don’t know what they’d do. But,” he admitted, “it would likely take them a while to get to it. Their sense of time is a little off.”

“If Roman is really in danger, are you willing to risk it?” Patton asked softly.

Virgil looked straight into Patton’s blue-grey eyes and saw nothing but understanding and affection. His jitters were nowhere near gone, but the uncertainty vanished. “I… yes. Yes, I am. If it means keeping him safe, I’ll do anything.”

Logan placed hand on the violet-haired man’s shoulder. “Then I think it is indeed worth a try. Can we help or support you in any way?”

“I just… I need to think,” Virgil whispered, closing his eyes.

Virgil was terrified. Not for himself, but for Roman. His friend and newly-minted boyfriend. Was this a punishment for pulling an innocent man into a destiny he hadn’t sought out? Did he bring this upon them all from his foolish attempt to be a human rather than a Sage?

His brethren might be merciless. They might cut him off from the ether, turning him mortal. They might forcibly bring him back into the ether, ending his human life and ensuring that he remain a spirit for the rest of eternity. They could even do both, if they were feeling particularly displeased: kill his current form and cut him off from his connection. He’d be truly dead then, with absolutely no chance of returning. There was no way of knowing what action they’d take, or if what Virgil was about to attempt was a heinous enough offense to warrant any punishment at all.

All he knew was that he was willing to risk both eternal life and this finite one if it meant Roman would be safe. He took a deep breath, summoning his power, and linked his own arms, forearm to forearm.

> _He sees a world like the current one. Humans thrive. Magic is invisible to the point of nonexistence. He sees Roman, alive, happy,_ _safe_ _. His heart is soothed until he realizes - he can’t see himself in this future._
> 
> _The world twists upon itself. He sees natural disasters and apocalypses, the world spinning too fast, the sun collapsing and exploding in a brilliant supernova that stretches to infinity and leaves behind vast nothingness._
> 
> _He sees himself as Supreme Ruler over humankind and magic folk alike, dragons returning and fairies dancing._
> 
> _He sees himself at Dante’s side, the man’s former beauty fully restored. He is clinging to his lovers’ arm, doted upon by the sorcerer-king and tended to by the humans that labor in servitude to their magical overlords._
> 
> _He sees Dante die, himself die,_ _Roman_ _die. And Patton die. And Logan, and Remy, and Virgil’s landlady, and Remy’s boyfriend Antony, and Joan and Talyn and the bakafé’s regulars, Heather and her daughter and Emile and and and..._
> 
> _He sees Roman’s death over and over in hundreds of futures. Now, Dante transforms into a massive adder and tears a chunk out of his shoulder. Now, Roman’s theatre burns in dragonfire, the princely man trapped inside by a falling set as he desperately pushes the last of his cast to safety. Now Virgil himself sends Roman to a labor camp, Dante grinning smugly at his elbow. Roman leaps in front of a witch’s curse in the last fight of the Human Rebellion, keeping Logan and Patton alive for just a few more minutes. Dante chokes Roman to death, holding him up by a vice-like grip on his neck, legs flailing desperately in midair until they go still. Roman, gaunt and hollow-cheeked, dies of starvation in an unknown ruin. Dante breaks Roman’s ribs in his serpentine coils. Roman dies of old age, alone in a dark retirement home. Roman’s blood drips sluggishly down his chest as he is forced to watch Dante kiss Virgil’s neck, and the sorcerer’s casual gesture sends another iron spike through his body- enough to continue killing him, never enough to let him die outright. Roman is in a hospital as a heart monitor slowly blips to flatline. Roman kisses Virgil desperately as an unavoidable blast of magical energy hurtles towards them both. Patton and Roman both watch in horror as Patton thrusts a sword directly through the Roman’s heart, compelled to act against his will by a vindictive fairy’s spell. Roman dies falling from a tower. Roman dies at a furious sprite’s hands, crushed under falling stone. Roman dies. Roman dies._ **_Roman dies._ **
> 
> _Tears pour down Virgil’s cheeks. He can’t find the crux. Where is the one choice? What is the future decision that will put the world on the correct path? Who can save the only person he’s ever loved?_

Hands grabbed him and shook him to wakefulness. Logan held both his shoulders, pale and visibly shaken, but forcing himself to remain calm. Patton was turned away, glasses on the table beside him, weeping silently. Virgil stared at them both through red-rimmed eyes. He’d broken the Law, risked his powers, and what did he have to show for it? He hadn’t seen anyone whose choice would shape these futures.

But… perhaps that didn’t mean it had been useless. All these years, he’d been sought out by those who didn’t know better, hoping to make the best out of uncertainty. What had he given them? Guidance? That guidance had been a road map to an untimely death as often as not. Following the Law of Sages hadn’t changed that. He’d followed every rule with Kat and she’d died as surely as Colan had. Yes, she’d had a fuller lifetime, but the end result was the same. She’d died, as surely as Baxter had, and Vorel, and Pasithee. What value did his gift add, compared to the pain it had caused, and the tradeoffs he’d made?

His long, long life had been temples, grottos, and mountain caves. Isolation or captivity. His Seekers has been young and old, brave and cowardly, good and evil. And in all his thousands of years on this earth, he’d felt more alive in these last few weeks than ever before. He’d been watching humanity skitter to and fro for eons and only just now understood how wonderful and wonderfully imperfect they could be. And never, in all these years, had his _own_ choices been a part of any future.

All these lives he’d lived. All those false choices he’d presented- were they ever really different? They all lead to death. The ersatz hopes had stacked on each other into a tottering tower that was his present, and there was only one thing keeping it all from collapsing with an impact that would reverberate through his entire past and future.  
These men. These _friends_. He’d never felt such easy and sudden connection before, had never felt able to trust anyone so completely- Patton, Roman, even Remy. Even Logan, despite it feeling less direct with the scientist. Each of them echoed with familiarity, a thin and whispered melody as old as his power and just as intimate. Why did he feel as if he’d known them before? Why could he picture each of them alive and surrounding him in each one of his past lives?  
It couldn’t be magic. He would have been able to sense if any of them were a magical creature. But then why did he feel like these friends of his had weathered and waited through the ages just as surely as he had? As surely as Dante had?

He believed necessarily in the power of choice and free will, but he was not such a fool to stop believing in meaningful coincidence. These men, all of them, _meant_ something to him. And he’d be fucked (sorry, Patton) if he wouldn’t do all he could to protect them. And when he’d looked for a decision-maker in all those possible futures, he hadn’t seen anyone… except himself.

“Dear Cassandra, forgive me. I can’t just stand by any longer,” he whispered. He grabbed his backpack from beyond the bar and started throwing in anything and everything that his own futures had shown to be useful. “Patton, Logan,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t explain more right now, but I know where Roman is, and I’m going to save him. If you want to risk it and help, I’ll be at the corner of Canterbury and Laurel. Bring flashlights, and be on your guard. Tell Remy I’m sorry for ditching my shift.” The bell over the door clanged urgently, and he was gone.

Patton watched him go, still in shock. He’d never seen so much pain on one person’s face. Not even in the foster homes he’d lived in before his forever family found him. He wasn’t sure if Virgil knew he’d been continuing to cry as he’d whirled out of the cafe. It hurt his heart to see his young - well, not so young, apparently - friend grieve and suffer right in front of him, his eyes glowing a painfully bright white as tears flowed without stopping. Patton hadn’t been able to bear it, and had had to look away as he begged Logan to “Wake him up, please, God, wake him up!”

Logan turned to him now, and without a word embraced him tightly. Patton hugged back, tears seeping into the other man’s black polo.

“Patton… I’m sorry you had to see that. You’re so gentle and _good_ and…” Logan shuddered, and took a deep breath. “And that was painful to watch.” The blonde head laying on his shoulder nodded. “I don’t want to pretend we’re not both scared, but… I want to help Roman. I want to help Virgil, no matter who he is. Or _what_ he is. After you all saved me… I owe them both that much. But if you can’t or don’t want to, I won’t think any less of you. It’s a scary, uncertain situation, and we’re walking in blind. The sensible option is to avoid it.”

Patton lifted his head, eyes puffy. “Who ever said I’m sensible? They’re our friends, and they’re in trouble.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, and picked up his glasses from where they’d fallen on his lap. “We have other options, but there’s only one _right_ choice. I have flashlights under the bakery counter,  next to the first aid kit. You go grab them, and I’ll lock up the store. Remy will understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, that happened, did it not
> 
> Now is a GREAT time to tell you this: Dante’s prophecy was inspired by, I kid you not, the movie ‘Pokemon 2000’. _“Though the water's Great Guardian shall arise to quell the fighting, alone its song will fail. Thus the Earth shall turn to ash.”_ As in, Ash Ketchum. ‘The world will turn to flame,’ as in Flame the fire sprite. Did you think this was some deep shit? Nah, man, I am a dork


	23. The Confrontation (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has messed with his boyfriend and Virgil has some Feelings about that. Angry, angry feelings.

The cliché of it all grated on him. The location Virgil had seen that contained both his foe and his boyfriend was an empty building. At least Dante hadn’t gone fully for the trope of the abandoned warehouse - he’d picked an office building stalled in the middle of a construction project. More places to hide, he supposed.

He entered the front door carefully and made a beeline to the stairwell. He stepped carefully, easing his way through every door to keep his presence secret. He really needed to find Roman first. The sorcerer could be dealt with once he knew that this princely man he cared for so much was safe.

He peered into the first open door on the second floor. He was surprised to actually see that familiar flop of auburn hair, even if it was uncharacteristically messy. It was unusual circumstances, after all.  
Virgil rushed to Roman’s side, relieved to see him only bound to a stake in the floor and slightly bruised. “Roman, sweet heck, I have been so worried. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. Are you okay? Are you hurt? How long have you been here?”

He caressed Roman’s head and kissed his forehead as Roman smiled tiredly. “I’m okay, now that you’re here. I’ve kind of lost track of time though -  there was a while there when I was knocked out.”

“That snake knocked you out?” Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it, I’m killing him for good this time. No one knocks my boyfriend out and gets away with it.”

Roman grinned. “You said _boyfriend._ ”

“Well yeah, that’s what you are, princey. You haven’t already forgotten, have you?”

“Of course not,” Roman replied, nuzzling his head into Virgil’s chest.

“You know what this feels like? This feels like _Jailbreak_ ,” Virgil said with a grin. Now that he’d found Roman, it was okay to relax.

“Well, not exactly a jail, but yeah, could you get me out?”

_Wait, I made a Steven Universe reference, and he didn’t respond to it? No quip about tiny shiny lesbians?_

“Uh, yeah, of course. But you know, I’m pretty sure of the two of us, I’m Ruby - you know, the hot one.”

“Of course you are,” Roman smiled up at him.

_Okay, definitely weird. There is no way he would just let that go without a quip. Something’s wrong._

Virgil had frozen slightly, but kept speaking, trying to keep the mood light. “Here, Princey, can you shift over towards the window? I’m worried about these bruises and can’t tell how bad they are.”

Roman appeared to hesitate, but edged as close to the window as his bonds would allow, letting the afternoon light illuminate his face.

Virgil noted with cool clarity that there were dark circles under Roman’s eyes, and a bruise that matched Logan’s on his temple. He gently turned the taller man’s chin and felt his stomach drop as he saw a brief ripple of scales under the smooth skin of Roman’s cheek.

“Does- doesn’t look too bad,”  Virgil said, his voice cracking. His mind raced with possibilities of where the real Roman could be right now. “How about you, um, hold tight here, and I’ll go find Dante. Once he’s taken care of, I’ll come back for you.”

“Oh darling, I didn’t realisse you cared,” Roman’s form said with a sudden hiss. Scales revealed themselves more clearly on his cheek and hands as the chains holding him glowed yellow and flew towards Virgil, who had ducked and started pelting for the door the moment the sorcerer started to speak.

He weighed possibilities as he reached the doorway and slammed it behind him, hearing the heavy thunk of metal on wood. He eyed the outward side of the handle and deadbolt, and a thought occurred to him. He read possibilities, and could conceivably see them for all things, even inanimate objects. If he could see them, read them… could he _write_ them, too?

He placed a hand over each mechanism, and concentrated. Someone had made the choice to put them on in this direction. If he could just find that choice, and channel the power of the ether to reverse it…

He could see the reflection of his eyes’ glow fading as he locked the deadbolt and handle from the outside, now that they had always been this way. Dante-as-Roman was locked in, for now. And luckily, wood was one of the few materials most resistant to magical change and most suited to pure conduction. It was why so many sorcerers and witches had wooden wands. The door would hold, a bit.

He texted Logan and Patton. “If you’re coming, be alert, and _be careful._  If you come to a door locked from the outside, don’t unlock it. And if you see someone you think is Roman, be careful about approaching him. The sorcerer’s up to his tricks again.”

Virgil quickly moved down the hall, carefully glancing through open doors and peering around the cracks under closed ones, looking for the real Roman. His skin felt like it was crawling from alertness, every hair on his arms and neck raised. Dante was using illusions. He wouldn’t be able to trust his eyes alone.

He came to a room with the door cracked open, and a cautious glance revealed a familiar flash of red and white. Roman, or something that looked just like him, was there. It was identical to the first room, the one that had been Dante in disguise. He edged in, ready to dive out again the minute he sensed anything odd. “Roman? Is that you?”

“Oh thank god, you’re here! I’ve been tied up for hours waiting for you to save me!”

“...right. Okay, ‘Roman,’ who’s your favorite gem?”

“Is this the time? I mean, I’m rather a fan of moonstones, but can’t that wait until you’ve freed me?”

Virgil groaned, and went over to the form-that-was-definitely-not-Roman. Reaching for his shoulder, his hand went right through it, revealing the glow of yellow fire. An illusion of light. _Great._ At least it dissipated as he disrupted it.

This room had a pile of scrap metal bars. He picked one up, thinking of the trick he'd pulled with the doorknob. His eyes glowed as the metal length suddenly had been a sharp, slim sword for as long as it had been anything other than ore. If Dante wanted to go medieval, Virgil would match him.

He went room to room in the hallway. Dante had been tricky - most rooms were empty, which meant he kept getting his hopes up whenever he finally found another Roman lookalike, and more nervous as he realized he hadn’t heard any sounds from the actual sorcerer himself.

Another Roman. “Who’s your favorite prince?”

“Um, William? Maybe Harry?” Virgil rolled his eyes and swung his sword, dispatching the clone in a yellow flash.

Down a floor. Another occupied room. “What drink had your ordered when I gave you my number?”

“Coffee, definitely coffee.”

Another flash, and Virgil stomped on.

He was irritated and nervous - not a _great_ combination as he was walking around with a sword in hand. The next occupied room, he walked straight in and leveled his sword at the probably-also-fake Roman’s throat.

“Which Crystal Gem am I most like?”

“Well, right now you’re really giving off some ‘Pearl-in-The-Answer’ vibes, Panic! at the Everywhere.”

Virgil dropped his sword with a clatter. “Pythia’s mercy, it’s actually you,” he whispered before immediately taking Roman’s beautiful face in two hands and kissing him thoroughly. He couldn’t keep his hands still, caressing Roman’s back and arms and head, checking for injuries and being reassured that he was real and warm and _alive_.

“Well that’s a greeting,” Roman gasped out as Virgil finally released him. He was grinning despite mussed hair and multiple dark bruises.

Virgil colored slightly. “Finding you was a bit of a challenge. I was so nervous he’d already snuck you out of the building and I was too late.”

“You haven’t defeated him yet?”

“I ran into him, but making sure you were unhurt was my priority. I got you kidnapped, Ro. I wasn’t about to risk losing you forever.” Virgil caught Roman’s eyes with his own, lightly brushing a hand against his cheek, careful of the man’s bruises.

“I’d always wondered what it would be like to live out my fantasies,” Roman commented, kissing Virgil’s hand. “But usually, I was the one with the sword. Where did you get this, anyway?”

“I, uh. Made it. Turns out my magic does more than just see choices. I can alter them. Here, you’ll need one too,” Virgil explained, picking up another scrap metal piece.

“By the way, do you know the battle of Hercules and the Hydra?” he asked. Roman nodded. Virgil handed him the sword that had always been one and a lighter. “Keep these both handy, just in case. We thought we killed that snake at the lab. This time, I’m going to be sure.”

Roman took both, eyes wide. He looked down at the sword in one hand, weighing it. “I knew there was a reason I took all those stage combat courses at university,” he said with a wink at Virgil. “Lead on, my dark and stormy knight.”

* * *

Now that they were reunited, Virgil was able to be more careful, no longer stomping down hallways in fear and rage. As they walked through hallways lit only by natural light, he finally had the quiet moment to remember the full context of his situation, and swore.

“Roman… I told Logan and Patton where I’d be. Fuck, they might have actually followed me. All they’ll have are flashlights!”

“Hey, they _might_ not have come to help you save me from a dangerous situ- no, you’re right, this is Patton we’re talking about, and Logan wouldn’t let him come alone. They are definitely here somewhere.”

“I just hope that they didn’t get caught by-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wassste time on hope,” a self-satisfied voice rang out from door to their right.

Virgil and Roman rang to the door, swords in their fists, to see Dante smirking. His hands were both glowing yellow, magically holding the ropes that held the wrists and ankles of Logan and Patton. Scraps of yellow cloth were wrapped around their mouths, leaving only their noses and eyes free. Logan was glaring daggers at the sorcerer, and Patton was clearly watching Logan nervously.

“Dante, release them. They have no part in your plan, and have done nothing to you,” Virgil called out. He wasn’t sure if  he was successful in keeping the tremor of fear out of his voice, but at the very least the fury was still present.

“Oh, they played an integral part of my plan, Ssage. Jusst like your pretty boyfriend here,” the sorcerer leered at Roman. “They brought you to me, facce to facce. Do I _need_ to keep them tied up now? Not really, but it’ss generossity as this point. They get to beat the russh.”

“Sorcerer, I’m warning you,” Virgil said coldly, squaring himself up, sword at the ready. “Let them go. They’re innocent humans.”

“ _Innoccent?_ Humanss, innoccent? Don’t make me laugh,” Dante spat back. “Humanss are what ruined our world! Humanss are why magic hass become a myth! Humanss are what killed the dragonssss!” Scales had completely taken over half the sorcerer’s face and neck, and if Virgil cared about betting, he’d wager both gloved hands had gone scaly too.

“That wasn’t humans. That was time. Time, and the choices all we magic folk made. Do you truly think _you_ would know better than one who has Seen it all?” Virgil asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil saw Patton edging towards Logan, despite his hobbled ankles.

“It wass _not_ jusst Time. It wass human nature itsself, alwayss creeping, and prying, and desstroying whatever it found that wass different. You are no more than a sseer, merely glimpsing at choices others make. I am a sssorcerer! I _make_ the choiccess, and I can change them too. My sspellss will bring me the magic folk, and together we can reversse the devasstation thesse misserable creaturess have wreaked!” Dante advanced on Virgil, who stepped back into the corner, away from the door, away from Roman and his friends.

“For what end, Dante?” he challenged the snake-man. “The world has changed. Magic isn’t needed anymore. Will you burn down all that has been built rather than admit that the future you pictured is now impossible?”

“Nothing would be impossible if magic hadn’t dissappeared!” the sorcerer snapped.

“Oh, so now you conveniently forget all the natural laws around magic. Life from death would still be impossible, edible food from nothing would still be impossible, and reversing or altering the natural progression of time? Also impossible. You were a titled wizard, Dante the Golden. I know you must have learned this. Or did all that time on your belly knock out all your sense?” Virgil taunted. The sorcerer was glowering. Good. That meant he wasn’t turning to see Roman freeing Patton and Logan from their bonds.

“I ssshould blasst you where you ssstand,” Dante growled.

“Go ahead, Monty Python. I’m the only magical creature in this city, aside from you. My death means that much less magic for you to harness. Kill me, and you won’t have enough magic to cool down hot tea in the middle of snowstorm.” Virgil’s mouth seemed to be working on its own. How was he able to respond so cooly in face of mortal threats? Actually taking action was a weird, heady thing. Knowing his friends were counting on him gave him courage he’d never known he was capable of demonstrating.

But at that moment, Logan found the bruises on Patton’s wrists, and started stalking towards the sorcerer’s turned back, blue eyes dark with fury. Virgil tried to will him to back off, but it was too late. Dante had seen Virgil’s eyes flick to the man advancing towards him, and whirled. Yellow fire gathered around his hands before arcing out towards the tall man’s head.

“ _Logan!”_

Virgil wasn’t sure who had yelled it. It might have been all three of them. But it was the blur of blue shirt and white apron that tackled Logan to the ground, sending the magic bolt harmlessly into empty air.

Another blur, this one red and white. Roman risked getting close to the sorcerer to sweep his legs out from under him with his own leg, knocking their enemy to the ground. Virgil saw his chance and pushed Dante to his knees against the wall, and leveled his sword just below the sorcerer’s chin. Dante hissed angrily, trapped.

Virgil smirked. “Oh I’m sorry, was that not what you wanted to happen at this particular moment?”

“Ssstop interfering, you ussselessss palm-reader!” Dante spat. His eyes, glowing with magical effort, had turned a sickly yellow. Scales were spreading to cover even more of his face and body. “It isss forbidden! I will report your infraction to the Sssagesss myssself!”

“Newsflash, you slithering snake. The Law is and has always been broken. But more importantly, _I don’t care._ ”

“ _Damn_ you, Zephyr,” the sorcerer hissed as the sword pricked at his throat.

“Didn’t you hear, Dante?" the violet-haired man said coldly. "The name’s Virgil now. Let me lead you to hell.”

He tensed to strike the fatal blow when he felt Roman’s hand on his back.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Virge? I’ll support your decision, I just want to make sure you’ve thought about it.”

Virgil’s brain rebelled. _Of course I want to do it. I don’t_ _want_ _to think about it. I’m tired of thinking everything through, of over-thinking and over-analyzing and over-exaggerating. I’m finally_ _acting._

But Roman’s hand on his back, that small knot of warmth, eased the throbbing fire of his heart. Still, he hesitated, looking at the trapped sorcerer. Dante glared back, both pupils reduced to slits.

“He’s had his second chance. He went right back to his plots and evil machinations. Why shouldn’t he die? Why should he get to be the only one who weathers extinction, compared to everyone who’s been lost?” Virgil noticed dimly that his face was damp. He could practically see the steam as his anger burned away his tears. Memory was flooding him, anger and grief reacting against one another in an eruption of tears and words.

“Pasithee died at his own hand, rather than give in to a thirst that had grown too strong. Vorel and Baxter died knowing they were one of the last of their kinds. Colan,” a lump formed in his throat. He powered through. “Colan died just wanting to be a hero, just this once. Even Kat died. She at least was happy, she had been an artist, and lived a full life. But she still died, one of the last living Godchildren. Why should this _thing_ get to be the one who survives? Why is it just me and him left?”

Both Dante and Roman were staring, confusion clear in both their faces. Virgil was vaguely aware of the echoes the slithered underneath his words as he bared his grievances to the world writ large. Of course no one could understand what he meant, or who he referred to. He dimly noted a glow reflecting off his sword. Was it from his eyes?

“Septimus died,” he continued his rant, throwing out the name like a punch. Dante flinched as if it had been a physical blow indeed. “Yes, you miserable snake, I saw your future back then. I know about _Timus._ I saw the possibility that you would relent when you were given the option. Not that it was a _strong_ possibility. But after your betrayal, he crumbled. The faculty blamed him for your theft, said that blood would tell, and his reputation was shattered. He died of heartbreak and and a heart attack, keeping himself awake on magic alone as he tried to find a way that you could have survived. You could have saved him, if you hadn’t been such a _coward._ ”

The past and future were pulsing together in his eyes and ears, hot and thick as blood. Knowledge of infinity pounded through his head. He could see the choices of everyone around him, no contact needed. A snippet here was Roman nailing his first big audition, and there was a flicker of his possible first Broadway opening. Now it was Logan successfully extracting potato DNA, only ten and on the cusp of a lifelong passion, morphing into a glimpse of potential tenure and massive research grants. Patton’s face lighting up as his foster family ate his best attempt-to-date of birthday cake, and there were the hundreds of children he could benefit with his fundraisers as well as the three he could adopt with Logan. Dante was feeling accepted for the first time as blue-and-gold eyes praised his attentiveness, now maybe rotting away in jail for a crime the police weren’t entirely sure they had papers on.

Virgil’s stomach rebelled. _Too much information. Too many possibilities_. The world spun beneath his feet and he saw dinosaurs being encased in ash. He saw a moment of total silence and nothingness before suddenly, everything was. He saw an earth that recovered from deforestation and one that dried up to nothing.

Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming. It was a pathetic sound. What was the use of yelling? Time did not care. Destiny did not care. A tinny, infinitesimal peep against the entirety of the universe. It sickened him.

Two blotches of warmth on his face resolved into objects with a solid mass and five lesser masses. Hands. Someone was holding his face. He struggled to blink through his visions to see something tawny and auburn and red and white. Something Good. Roman caressed his cheeks as Virgil’s raw throat finally quieted. The glow of his eyes faded. Dante had not moved from his place at Virgil’s sword point.

“Virgil,” Roman asked softly, disrupting the stunned silence. “Do you want this man to die?”

“He _deserves_ to die.”

“But do you _want_ to kill him?”

Virgil let out a long, shaky breath.“No, I don’t,” he said at last.

“Then what do you want?”

“I want him to have made better choices.”

Roman dropped his hands from Virgil’s cheeks to his shoulders, gazing intently into his eyes. “Is that something you can do?”

“I… I have no idea.”

“Let’s find out, then.”

Virgil stared back, comprehension rippling in slowly. Then he nodded and lowered his sword at long last, letting it fall with a clatter. A tiny dot of blood remained on the sorcerer’s neck. The Sage was shaking. He turned to the sorcerer and reached out, but hesitated.

“Princey... help me?”

“I’m here, Stormcloud. I’ve got you,” the taller man said, bracing his shoulders from behind.

Virgil drew a shuddering breath and placed both palms flat on either side of Dante’s head as his eyes began to glow. His hands imitated them, glowing with a pearly light that almost obscured the fact that from fingertip to palm, they were vibrating to the point of near invisibility. The glow spread slowly from his hands. Pearly light grew to coat Dante’s ears, then cheeks, then sealed in his head. It seeped downward, sliding over neck and collarbone. Black silk was covered by the white glow, scaly hands obscured. Down kneeling thighs to ankles the light slunk, and covered the snakeskin maybe-boots.

The glow increased, blinding everyone whose eyes weren’t causing the glow or encased by it. The nimbus obscured both Dante and Virgil, two men out of time and place, both stuck in an endless loop of waiting for centuries on one’s part, millennia on the other’s. Roman could barely see his own hands or arms, and only the slight tremor in Virgil’s shoulders let him know the Sage hadn’t moved or disappeared.

The light slowly started to edge back, creeping to settle within Virgil’s skin again. The glow in his hands retracted and he blinked light out of his eyes

The space in front of him was empty. Dante was gone. Only a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a yellow lighter remained.

“Kiddo... where did he go?” Patton asked fearfully from behind them. He and Logan had their arms wrapped around each other, but it was impossible to tell who’d reached out first. Dark and light blue eyes were equally wide.

“The question isn’t where, but when,” Virgil rasped. He’d never tried to channel so much power before. It had been exhilarating, terrifying, and exhausting. “I sent him back to the crossroads, to the crux of his life. He was given the choice anew, able to decide differently.”

Roman was still holding Virgil’s shoulders, which made it easy to catch him as the purple-haired Sage suddenly staggered, losing his balance. “Shh. Rest easy, Virge. I’ve got you,” he murmured, gently lowering him to the floor. Roman was unnerved and a little overwhelmed, not to mention still bruised, but despite his fear, he knew that supporting his boyfriend was what he needed to do.

“Dante disappearing means that he made a different decision somewhere. He didn’t end at this exact moment again. If I look back, I’ll be able to See...” Virgil’s words, forced through a raw throat, caused him to erupt in coughs.

Roman smoothed his violet bangs out of his face, shushing him. “Don’t push yourself, dear one. You have time. Easy, easy.”

Patton suddenly yelped from behind them. “Logan, you’re hot!”

The scientist blushed. “I could say the same about you, Patton.”

“Heh, dad joke. But no, I mean you’re physically hot to touch!” the baker cried, releasing the taller man and standing back.

Logan looked in confusion down at his body, and patted his chest down, searching for the heat. Without further warning, a cloud of pearly magic surrounded him, starting somewhere in the middle of his torso, spinning up into a cyclone around his body, and vanishing again.

“What the _fuck_  was that?” Logan asked. The room was silent in response, except for Virgil’s coughs and Patton's small gasp at the swear.

Virgil finally levered himself up with Roman’s help and went to brush a hand along Logan’s face. “That was... magic. But you’re not. I mean, you’ve never given off any ambient magic. And you aren’t now. I... I have no idea what happened.” He frowned. That had looked like Sage magic, specifically. What possibilities had changed that had affected his friend? “I’m sorry, Lo. I can’t even check right now. I feel all... floaty.”

Patton struggled between wanting answers and wanting to fulfill what all his paternal instincts wanted him to do. In the end, it was the look on Roman’s face - anxious, scared, but so very tender as he held Virgil upright - that pushed Patton to act.

“Okay, kiddos, we have all had a very long and very weird day, Roman and Logan are hurt, Virgil is a mess, and the scary man is gone. You are all coming to my house for snacks and rest and that is final. We can figure out the… magic, or whatever, later.”

His friends looked at each other. Every one of them sported some amount of bruises and the weight of exhaustion pressed down on them all. One by one they nodded. Both Virgil and Roman carried their swords in one hand with the other slung around one other’s shoulders as support. Logan may have been slightly concussed once more from Patton’s rescue tackle, but was very shaken from the sudden surge of magic. Whether or not that meant he actually _needed_ to lean on Patton as they exited the building, no one felt the need to question it.

For now, they had survived, and they were all together. And that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized halfway through writing this that there is definitely a strong Bad Wolf vibe to Virge here. Former Whovian tendences slip out at the weirdest times, I swear.  
> Fun writing fact: I re-conceived this whole scene multiple times, and re-wrote it twice. The only line that persisted through every version was “Newsflash, you slithering snake… _I don’t care._ ” 
> 
> Alternate chapter title: It’s You, Virgil, I knew you wouldn’t wait too long, a faithful boyfriend at his side once more... [yes this is quoting Les Mis]


	24. Trumpets Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've survived Dante. Nothing could scare Virgil now.

The days after their second encounter with the sorcerer had been… odd. Virgil felt as if he was floating, suddenly detached from all the nervous energy that had plagued his life since that first collision on the sidewalk. He smiled at every customer in the bakafé, helped decorate pastries with Joan and Talyn, and spent every evening on his couch or Roman’s, curled up with his boyfriend as they watched shows and movies together. Well, they _mostly_ watched. They’d had to replay a couple of episodes due to getting distracted.

The only mar on the golden haze of post-Dante life was the possibility of punishment from the Sages. Virgil had gone against so much of the Law, he’d completely obliterated the bounds of what they’d even known to make rules against. But Sages’ idea of time, especially from within the ether, was approximate at best. When Virgil had attempted to explain it to Patton and Logan, the latter had nodded gravely and said “Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey.” Virgil was still very confused by this, but Roman had simply laughed at his confusion and told him the explanation was on their watch list.

For the first time in his life, though, someone else was more nervous than Virgil. Roman had become prone to bouts of pacing back and forth and as he tried to brainstorm ways for his rescuer and boyfriend to evade judgment and punishment altogether. After Dante’s defeat, though, Virgil’s fear of the Law of Sages had evaporated, and with it, all of his inclination to flee the consequences. He did not want to die, nor did he want to be forced to leave Roman’s side after all they’d survived together. But he did want to look his brethren in the face and ask them _why_.

The waiting was the hard part, not knowing when, if ever, the Sages would summon him. It might take them months or even years to notice the disturbance and find the right alignment to pull him into the ether. They might miss it entirely and his judgment wouldn’t come until he’d lived his entire lifetime out as Virgil and returned to the ether naturally. All he knew was that he wanted to spend as much time with his friends and Roman as he could until he was pulled away.

Currently, he was reclining while half on top of his gorgeous boyfriend watching _Parks and Recreation_. He loved listening to the man’s musical laugh, feeling his chest dance up and down, even if it moved his head quite a lot as a result. He looked up at Roman’s bright hazel eyes, deliciously soft auburn hair, and cheeks that were slightly flushed from merriment. The wave of affection he felt looking at him was intoxicating like nothing he’d ever experienced, not in all his years. As the episode ended, he sat up and paused it. Roman looked over quizzically, still smiling. Virgil smiled back. “I want to keep watching, I just got distracted by you, Ro. I hope you know just how amazing you are. You’re all things bright and delightful and beautiful, and I just…  there’s no reason to wait to say it. Roman Augustus, I-”

A sudden burst of white light filled the room. Winds whipped past Roman’s face as tendrils of pearly magic surrounded the violet-haired man sitting half-in, half-out of his lap. He reached for his hand, panicking, but his grasp met with nothingness. The light faded as suddenly as it had appeared. Virgil was gone.

* * *

 One moment he was on a couch, the next he was toppling to his knees in the middle of a white room, or was it an empty plane? There was a distinct sense of walls and roof and benches, but without limitations or physical boundaries. Virgil stuck out like a bear in a puddle, all purple and black in a space that was perfectly sterile and bare.

Not to mention, he was the only being in the space with a physical manifestation.

Ranks of Sages stared down at him, some with slight features and humanoid shapes on their glowing forms, some nothing more than amorphous nimbuses of light. One light shown a little brighter than the rest, the mark of a Sage who had spent eons in the ether. Yet she retained a clearly human and female form, enough for Virgil to recognize her. It was Cassandra, the fabled Seer cursed to be disbelieved in her accurate predictions. After her despicable treatment at the hands of the humans in her one lifetime on earth, she had retreated her to make sure there was always an experienced Sage able to observe from afar.

Time had not sweetened her mood towards the denizens of Earth, however. “Sage, you have disobeyed us,” she threw the words like spears as she advanced towards Virgil. “You have turned our Law upon its head, made a mockery of our ways. And for what?”

_Well, that’s how it’s going to be, I guess_ , Virgil thought. It’s not like he could lie to a room of omniscient beings. “To save my friends. To prevent a sorcerer from attempting to enslave humanity.”

“You flout the tenets of our brethren for _humans_. You risk eternity for a blink in time?” Cassandra’s voice was all icy distaste, as if Virgil’s actions were a cowpat he’d caused her to step in.

“For all of humanity and the remaining magic folk, Elder Cassandra. The possibilities were clear - the sorcerer’s intent was the dramatically alter the world as a whole, and enslave or kill all who interfered.”

“Oh, well, if only we’d realized the world might _change_ , then the utter disregard of the entirety of our existence would be perfectly satisfactory,” Cassandra said scathingly. “My fellow Elders, I hardly think a full trial and deliberation is necessary. Surely we can all see that there was a reason that this Sage remained in the world when his brethren all returned here, to our true home. He is a traitor to our order and our Law, and only severance and cessation can answer such crimes.”

Virgil shivered and looked down. How casually and easily she advocated for a permanent death sentence.

“Cassandra, surely you of all people would agree that in this case of all cases we must follow the full procedure of trial. It wouldn’t do to disregard part of the Law, even if we did all agree that this young one’s broken all of it. Which I do not, I might add.” Another form piped up from the benches to Virgil’s right. As he made eye contact, the form of an old Welsh woman smiled toothily back at him. “Hello, dearie. It’s ‘Virgil’ at the moment, hm?” He nodded silently. “Very good. The name I went by was Agnes, Agnes Nutter. And I want to hear the boy speak for himself,” she shot back at the tower of glowing fury that was Cassandra.

Other forms murmured and nodded along with Agnes’ statement. Virgil felt the knot in his stomach ease slightly. Cassandra would not determine his fate alone. That was some comfort, at least.

Another voice, this one vaguely male but otherwise nondescript, spoke. “I hereby call this Trial of Sages to order. The Sage currently known as Virgil is charged with open defiance of the Law. He will be given a chance to defend his actions and take questions from the Elders. The Elders will then deliberate and pick a suitable sentence. Virgil, you may begin.”

Virgil stood and walked to the center of the room, or perhaps he walked just a few steps forward in the empty space. A podium that wasn’t quite physical but that still had a solid presence appeared under his hands. He was glad there was no moisture here, or his palms would definitely be sweating with nerves.

“Esteemed Sages, Reverent Elders. I am before you today not because I have directly and deliberately gone against our Law, but because I have caused a situation that is not addressed in our code. For those who did not See the particulars, I learned, in the heat of the moment, that not only could I See a wide-open, unlimited future by reading my own destiny, I could physically change the present by enacting change in the past.”

The murmurs among the crowds became a rumble. Clearly, the information had _not_ been widely spread. Seeing Cassandra’s glare from where she’d resumed her seat at the center of the crowd, Virgil suspected he knew why.

“At first this change seemed to only apply to objects - if someone had made a choice regarding an inanimate thing, I could shift that choice so that the same materials had been made in another way, or into another thing. The essence remained the same - I did not create or destroy any matter. But despite not being sure it would work, I attempted to do the same with a living thing - a magical being. A sorcerer. One who I had divined for in a previous life. One who had made many choices that lead to the several repeat encounters I experienced in these last few weeks of human time. Despite having been told my whole existence that altering time was impossible, I was able to channel the ether and the potential energy of unchosen possibilities to send him back to a crux within his own life. He disappeared from the timeline I was in, then, and I can only assume this means he chose differently.”

He paused as the murmurs grew louder. He couldn’t really understand them, given there there were at least fifty voices speaking at once, but he caught snippets.

“...highly unorthodox…”

“absolutely unheard of…”

“...the implications!”

“...surely a fluke…”

“...what else don’t we know?”

One form stood. It was particularly amorphous and featureless, and had a voice that could only be described as ‘blue,’ but couldn’t be pinned to any existing conception of gender. “We speak for everyone when we say - how could this be possible? How could one lone Sage spontaneously acquire an ability that none of us knew about? And if he did not spontaneously acquire this, how long have we all been capable of such a thing?”

Agnes continued as the first form sat, or lowered itself, again. “And indeed, if we have had this ability, how could we _all_ have been blind to it? Is Virgil here the first to even attempt such a thing? He and his cohort from Delphi have been in existence for three and a half millennia. Surely there has been at least one other Sage who has made a similar attempt.”

Cassandra stood. “Elders, these questions are meaningless. Even if such an ability were widespread among our brethren, to use it would still be in defiance of our Law. This renegade, who has already rejected his brethren through his reckless manifestation, only proves that any of our order who attempt such drastic actions deserve none of our powers nor responsibilities. He is a threat to our way of existence, and should be dealt with as such.”

“Cassy, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you _did_ know about this,” Virgil interrupted. “You seem _remarkably_ unshaken about a revelation that has every other Sage here in a tizzy. I’m sure that the great and wise Cassandra would never deliberately conceal such information from her brethren, though, so I must be mistaken in noting your odd reaction.”

The ancient seer glared at him. The same weird boldness he’d had facing down Dante was fizzing in his veins. His heart was beating at a familiarly high rate, but instead of his usual flight or freeze, his body and mind had apparently agreed on _fight_. There was no deliberation in his words - they just poured out in a raging river of consciousness as he puzzled through the ancient being’s reaction.

“Really, it seems inconceivable that the oldest Sage, the only one who’s been continuously in the ether for hundreds of centuries straight, would have found out about such a dramatic revelation in Sagedom and not have shared it. Unless, maybe, you had a reason not to want us all to know. A grudge, perhaps. A resentment of all earthly creatures? Is that too harsh? I’m gonna say no, it’s not - it’s accurate. You don’t want Sages to be able to change things, because with change comes the chance for improvement. And if we could improve things, we could help humanity. We could give them chances to make better choices. But if the _goodness_ in humanity is just a choice away, then your assumptions have been wrong, all this time.”

If Cassandra had been manifested, she would have been turning white. As it was, her form was almost vibrating with anger, and she was tensed to advance towards Virgil. He kept going, relentless. “It turns out neither magical nor nonmagical mortals are inherently wicked, as you’ve told us all since your last cessation. They just have the _potential_ to be so.

If they’re not guaranteed bad, then it was just those human who chose to hurt you, and if we can change their choices, then there’s a chance that your pain could have been avoided entirely. And that possibility just _terrifies_ you, doesn’t it-”

Somewhere as he’d been speaking, Cassandra had come up directly in front of him, which he became instantly aware of as her very solid  hand connected with his right cheek.

“Don’t you _ever_ presume to know how I feel, _boy_. You speak of things you cannot ever understand.” Her voice was tight with fury.

Virgil’s face stung, but so did his conscience. He’d gone too far. Cassandra had endured some of the absolute worst treatment at the hands of humanity that anyone could be subjected to. He couldn’t pass judgment on how she coped. That wasn’t what any of this was about.

“I… you’re right, Cassandra. My words were uncalled for. I apologize.”

The prophetess returned his look and nodded grudgingly, then turned on her heel and returned to her spot among the rest of the Sages.

“Brethren,” Virgil spoke, his voice ringing in the endless space and bouncing off the suggestion of walls, “my real question is this: regardless of if there was one of us who knew of this ability, why didn’t we _all_ know? Why is it so rare that any of us has actually tried to use this power? We have all seen terrible choices and terrible futures, and many of us have had to watch as those choices were made and those futures became the present. Why did I only every try to do something about it _now?_ Why have we all spent so long as observers without ever trying to act?”

There were one or two whispers, but the crowd of Sages had largely gone silent. Was it guilt? Confusion? Contemplation? Probably a bit of all three.

“Our Law served a very needed purpose when we first made it. We wanted to correct the mistakes we made at Delphi. Over and over again, we had been too much part of the narrative. We and our prophecies were too often the crux of the future. So we learned, and adapted. We said we would remain on the sidelines - looking only, telling only. Embracing the vagueness to avoid deliberately misleading any Seekers. Pre-empting any prejudice against Seekers by instituting one invocation for all. All our intentions were good.” Virgil took a deep breath. He couldn’t remember a single time in his existence where he’d spoken so much while so many beings watched. Granted, not all of them had eyes, but if they did, every pair would have been glued to him.

“But as we all know, intentions aren’t enough. By being so adamant that we _should_ not interfere, we were preventing ourselves from knowing if we _could_ . It turns out that we have the power to enact change, to give second and third chances, to alter the present by influencing the past. I’ve done so, now. I don’t know that everything affected by that change is better now that it was before, but I do know that it removed a threat to humanity on the large and small scales, and I believe it was the right choice. I accept that I went against the intent of our Law. But I ask what we hope to accomplish with any of this?” He looked around at the ranks of glowing forms. All was silence, except for his voice and its echo in the endless space of the ether. “Because for centuries upon centuries, I’ve been telling destinies and then just...watching them happen. Favorable or unfortunate, good or evil, it’s all been effectively the same. Yes, I’ve been troubled when I’ve encountered a Seeker with particularly harmful intent. The heirs of kingdoms who planned vast crusades, the knights hoping to slay peaceful dragons, the ambitious and the dastardly, all of them. I was _troubled_ by their plans. Maybe even _concerned_ . But what did I do differently? Nothing. I followed our Law. I did my job, and let them go on their ways. We aren’t amoral beings, nor are we apathetic. If we know this, and still force ourselves to treat good and evil, justice and cruelty, benevolence and tyranny, all equally - what is our _purpose_?”

The emptiness stretched on and on as the last echoes of Virgil’s voice faded. The air was thick with his question and all the uncertainty it had brought to light. Glowing forms turned and exchanged glances, but no one seemed prepared to speak. Long moments passed without a sound.

It was Cassandra who finally broke the silence. “Our purpose is to be receptacles of knowledge of the future. We are not actors. Where we went wrong was manifestation. We are best here, in the ether, guiding indirectly. Here, we are able to approach and divine only for those we choose. Here, there is no risk of aiding those who wish ill on the world. Here, there is no risk of _humans._ ”

“But then why the ability to manifest in the first place?” That was Agnes. “Why these abilities, if we weren’t meant to use them?”

“Why aren’t we heroes?” Virgil heard himself say. “We could avert tragedies, wars, anything that came about from a choice. Why aren’t we _more_?”

“Because if we were more, we would never be enough.” A quiet voice sounded from the back of the crowd. A being entirely made of light was speaking. Its voice felt fragile, crackling and rustling like an ancient manuscript. “I apologize for not speaking up to support you sooner, Cassandra.”

The being floated above of out of the cluster of Sages, gently landing near Virgil as an identical podium appeared before it. “I am the only other left who made that decision, and I should not have left you alone before our brethren, Cass. I also knew of the ability that this young Sage has revealed. We discovered the power by accident long ago, before Delphi. It was spoiled through arrogance and foolhardiness. At first we used it well, so we thought, and righted wrongs. But it could be used easily for ill, too. And though we are not human, we are just as susceptible to the throes of emotions. One of our number wanted to become an Enforcer, fixing every possible problem. We urged him not to, but were ignored. He drove himself almost to madness, convinced of his own righteousness. He turned against us all. He was the first to discover the powers of severance and cessation - which is why only Cassandra and I remain today. He turned those powers against every other Sage then in existence. We were able to catch him unawares, and meted his own judgment upon him. And we swore to never again let ourselves, or any of the new Sages we created, fall into such temptation. That is why we hid this knowledge. That is why Cassandra feels so strongly about non-intervention.”

“So you were justified. Great. Doesn’t change the fact that the rest of us are moral beings who’ve spent eternity forced to act as if we weren’t,” Virgil said. History was great and all that, but they weren’t off the hook of his opinion. “The one thing we have all embraced since Delphi was the necessity of choice. Yet you refused to honor that for us, your brethren. If this is what it means to follow the Sage’s Law, I’d like to remove myself from the equation.”

“These revelations do not alter your actions, traitor,” Cassandra hissed. “You were ignorant of these externalities and still deliberately flouted our established customs.”

“And he will still receive a judgment, Cassandra,” Agnes interrupted. “In accordance with the Law, we will still confer. But you cannot decree unilaterally that this new information changes nothing. And Virgil is allowed to make his wishes known.”

“You are right, of course, Agnes,” Cassandra said sourly. “So, trai- _Virgil_ ,” she amended at Agnes’ glare. “What punishment do you request for your actions?”

Virgil paused. He hadn’t known he’d be given a choice. He’d never been present for a trial before.

“What I want? What I want is to have the Law be changed. For us as a whole to rethink our role. I want us to feel able to act when our morals compel us to do so, and to know how to balance our ability to act with our justification to do so. I want us to be better.”

“What you ask for is for chaos, a complete abandonment of our ancient order,” Cassandra said coldly.

Virgil looked away from her, towards the rest of the crowd. “We’re immortal, it won’t kill you all to think about it, will it?” He scanned the faces. Trying to read reactions when so many had only a haze of color instead of features was an impossible task. But nevertheless, his suggestion felt hopeless.

He sighed. “I guess that’s it, then. I no longer believe in the Law, and I wish to no longer be bound to its forced amorality. But our Elder is right - I don’t want to be an Enforcer, either. And I don’t want to have to constantly be balancing those extremes. I guess that means I request severance. Have the ether release me, and let me live on as a human, as a mortal. All I request is that I not lose my memory of the life I’ve lived so far in this form.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. Agnes smiled warmly. The elder being seemed to nod.

“Is there anything else you wish to add in your defense?” the agéd being asked.

“No… I think that’s it,” Virgil half-whispered. After speaking so much and so forcefully, he felt the hot energy that had pulsed through his veins cooling and congealing, leaving him drained.

“Then, brethren, please join me in the secondary plane for judgment.”

The gathered forms began to fade into more incorporeal forms.

_“Wait!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of Doctor Who influences, whoops, who left this rose on a beach?  
> Agnes Nutter belongs to the late great Sir Pterry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman from their excellent, wonderful, hilarious novel Good Omens. I hope Neil doesn’t mind me borrowing her.  
> Also, WOW, you know that thing when characters just grab the tiller and go on a wildly different tack than you’d originally planned? That happened so hard I think I went straight into a jibe. Here’s hoping I don’t get hit in the head by the boom. (Am I taking the nautical metaphor too far? I probably am. Welp, that sure took the wind out of my sails)


	25. Confessions, Vol. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then, brethren, please join me in the secondary plane for judgment.”  
> The gathered forms began to fade into more incorporeal forms.  
>  _“Wait!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairings: Loceit  
> Chapter Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, implied relationship that starts with an imbalance of power, character death (old age)

_“Wait!”_

Dozens of glowing forms turned to face Virgil, to the extent that they had faces. His yell was still echoing through the endless void.

“Before you decide on my judgment, can I get an answer a different question?”

Cassandra huffed, but Agnes nodded.

“When I sent the sorcerer back in his own timeline, it had an effect on my nonmagical friend Logan who was just... standing there. And it was definitely Sage magic, nothing of his own or even of the sorcerer’s,” Virgil said nervously. “Did I… did I hurt him, somehow?”

Agnes came to sit beside him on a chair that had appeared just for her purpose. “I noticed that, too, and did some digging before everyone else finally caught up and brought you here. It turns out, Sages aren’t actually that different from humans. Physiologically, in fact, we’re identical, when we manifest. We are just able to collapse the growing up process to the juncture of our choice when we emerge from the ether, and our consciousness remains past the limits of the body. Humans are technically just as immortal as we- their _essence_ remains the same through lifetimes, even when their consciousness and body are lost. All that separates a human from a sorcerer from a Sage is the degree of connection to the ether. I have been exploring the ethereal world since I relinquished my last mortal form, and I have found the inert former consciousnesses of sprites, and fairies, and all manner of magical creatures here in the ether. A genetic lottery determines what form that essence will inhabit upon its descension, but as the years have passed, less and less connection to the magic of the ether remains.

“I believe your friend was affected by a dramatic change in the life of his essence. The sorcerer Dante’s choice had a profound effect on the being-that-was-Logan’s essence before Logan the human came into being. This is what I theorize, at the very least. Before we Elders confer, I’d like to test my theory. Join me in looking back at the moment of the sorcerer’s choice, won’t you?”

The older woman offered her hands. Virgil hesitated, wary of yet more Sage magic, but his need to have answers was stronger than his fear. Two pairs of glowing hands clasped and light surrounded them both as the two Sages looked back in time together.

> _Dante slips up the steps of the Tower silently, his feet shod in soft cloth to avoid detection. He uses the key he’s had since the second month of his apprenticeship to open Septimus’ workroom door._
> 
> _It is pitch black in the foyer, but Dante has no need of witchfire to navigate. He knows this room better than any place in the world, better than the house of his parents, far better than that horrible ‘foster home’ with its unfeeling stones and isolated chambers that held trapped whispers of past screams._
> 
> _He sneaks confidently past stacks of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves into the study. A very dim glow from the banked fireplace outlines the dark shadows of desks covered in books and scrolls, the chairs where Dante had spent so many hours studying, and Septimus’ ridiculous but brilliant reading contraption._
> 
> _Dante’s heart twists the slightest bit as he notices the dim outline of Septimus’ tea mug precariously perched atop at least four books and three manuscripts. Such disarray only ever happens when Timus is diving particularly deep into his studies, usually because he is trying to quench some emotion or other. He’s always so timid and scared of letting any feeling affect him, but he still manages to be so kind and supportive of Dante himself._
> 
> _Shaking his head to rid it of thoughts that could cloud his resolve, Dante proceeds to the back room. The light of the shield spell is more than bright enough to see by. Under the royal blue glow of Septimus’ magic lies the staff. The Staff of the Sprites, created in a grand ceremony honoring the four tribes’ old gods. All it waits for is to be brought to the old gods’ altars to lock in the power of the tribes and their magics. Dante has already made a plan to proceed directly to each one, and thanks to the Sage, he knows that once the wood of the staff is in union with the stone of the Fire Altar, he will have the power he craves. He will be able to eliminate the threat of humans from the magical world. He’s been judged as a threat, as a powder keg about to explode, for his whole life. Why_ _shouldn’t _ _he prove them right if he can save all magic folk while doing so?_
> 
> _About to collapse the shield spell, he pauses. He knows exactly how to do so from all those times Septimus released the spell so that Dante could study the staff for his research. The complex gesture is so familiar to him, he knows he could perform it in his sleep. But just now, the lack of Septimus’ presence makes him doubt._
> 
> _If he goes through with this, he’ll never be allowed or able to see his mentor and friend again. Not that the man will even_ _want _ _to see him, he’ll be so disappointed. Why does that thought hurt so much? He is resolved, isn’t he? He’s going to save the magical world, damn the consequences. Why would this tiny thing, this friendship with a fellow sorcerer, overpower all his reasons to act?_
> 
> _He lifts his hands to begin the counterspell, but memories flood in. Septimus looking up from his desk, interrupted for the first time in hours, with his hair askew and glasses almost falling off his nose. Timus greeting him without a word, just a silently-handed mug of Dante’s favorite tea. Late-night laughter as Dante describes his fieldwork struggles, Septimus urging him to tell him everything, commiserating and teasing in turns. Blue-and-gold eyes catching his for the first time as the university’s most famous young scholar finds a frustrated teenager hiding in the library stacks, trying to cry off his latest rejection in private. A warm hand shaking his as suddenly, he has a master in his studies, only seven years old than himself. Septimus and his support throughout the political maze that had been his experience at the university. Septimus and his willingness to fight the headmaster and the faculty on Dante’s behalf. Septimus and his unconditional belief in Dante’s abilities and knowledge._
> 
> _Dante can’t go through with this. It is no tiny thing, this friendship. It never has been. It has been everything. It_ _is _ _everything._
> 
> _His hands fall to his sides, and he turns and leaves the backroom. Back through the study, through the dark library, back into the black corridor. He walks a path almost as familiar as the study through the tower to Septimus’ sleeping quarters, but hesitates at the door. It is so late - will Timus even want to see him? He knocks quietly, figuring he’ll leave when it fails to wake the scholarly sorcerer._
> 
> _Footsteps sound. The door opens. Septimus is holding blue flames in his free hand as he blinks through hastily-donned glasses at his late-night visitor._
> 
> _“Dante, you’re back! Are you… are you quite alright?” he asks softly._
> 
> _Instead of answering, Dante realizes there are tears welling and spilling out of his eyes. “Timus, I am so sorry,” he chokes out of a suddenly-tight throat._
> 
> _Septimus immediately pulls Dante into his quarters and closes the door behind him before hugging him tightly._
> 
> _“You’re here, and you’re safe, Dant. You have nothing to apologize for.”_
> 
> _“I do though, I almost did it, I wanted to-”_
> 
> _“But you didn’t,” Timus interrupts him. His voice is thick. “You came back. You came_ _here_ _. That’s all that matters.”_
> 
> _“I don’t know how you can say that. You don’t even know what I’m talking about…”_ _  
> _ _“Don’t I?” Two pairs of gold-streaked eyes meet in the scant light of the living room hearth. “The staff, and your research on it… you’re a brilliant scholar and sorcerer. You figured out the exact steps of the final ritual. Or, if I suspect correctly, the four final rituals.”_
> 
> _Dante gasps, pushing himself out of Septimus’ hold. “You… you knew? And you let me leave?”_
> 
> _“Dant, I didn’t_ _let _ _you do anything. You were always going to leave the university at some point. All I could do was hope you’d come back, and not just for the staff.”_
> 
> _“I… was going to. Just now. I was going to steal it and never been seen again until I had all the power it could offer,” Dante says, walking over, away from that painfully-understanding gaze, and staring out the chamber window. “I was going to leave this place forever. And everyone in it.”_
> 
> _“Why didn’t you?” Septimus asks softly. The scholar refuses to be hopeful. He refuses to let himself wish for the answer he wants to hear._
> 
> _Dante quietly regards the sleeping university sprawled out below the window. It all looks so much more peaceful at night. Just smooth stone and dark tiles lit by moonlight. The night shows none of the daytime imperfections of prejudice and politics.  “I would have been abandoning you,” he replies at last. “After all we’ve been through together, and all you’ve done for me, that was what stopped me. I couldn’t bear the thought of knowing I’d betrayed your trust.”_
> 
> _The hard knot of emotions threatens to loosen itself in Septimus’ chest. “I… I am glad you decided to refrain. And I’m gladder still that you’re here now.”_
> 
> _Dante turns to look at him, raw and vulnerable. “Timus, can I sleep here, or in the study? I don’t think I can handle the dormitories tonight.”_
> 
> _“Of course, Dant. You’ll stay here, not the study. You’ll hurt yourself trying to sleep in those chairs.”_
> 
> _Septimus leads Dante to his bedchamber and gives him an extra nightshirt. They settle on their own separate sides of the sorcerer’s enormous bed._
> 
> _As he’s about to drift to sleep, exhausted by the day, Dante hears Timus’ soft voice, and feels a gentle hand on his shoulder._ _  
> _ _“Dant, I’m so glad you came home.”_
> 
> _Later, Dant will blame sleepiness for his response. “It’s not the university, you know. This place has never been my home. No _ _place_ _has ever been home, not since I was a child. It’s_ _you_ _, Timus. With you, I’m always home.”_
> 
> _Later, Septimus and Dante will talk about this moment. Later, they’ll ask each other how they feel about their relationship that started as mentorship but became so much closer. Later, they’ll carefully discuss how they might navigate the implications of two sorcerers, two faculty members, and the appearance of impropriety if they were to pursue this further._
> 
> _For now, though, Septimus pulls Dante into his arms and holds him tightly, and Dante wraps his arms around him in return. In the morning, neither will have let go._

Pearly light swirled in Virgil’s vision as he was dragged a bit forward in time, following the thread of new choices that began that night in the university tower all the way to its new conclusion.

> _Septimus dies an old, old man. He has become headmaster of the university, and the school has increased its reputation despite, or perhaps because of, the massive influx of socereri of any, all, or no genders. His essence, lighter and easier now than in any other possible timeline, fades from his physical form as it ascends into the ether. The Sages are able to watch the pale nimbus of blue light rise into the queue of essences waiting to reform, with a pale yellow light joining mere moments later. When the light-that-was-Septimus reaches its turn to manifest once more, the consciousness and memory have faded entirely, and the connection to the ether too. But the spark remains, that burning desire for knowledge. It will serve well in its next life._

Agnes released Virgil’s hands. Virgil felt his cheeks - they were damp. He had done that. He had made a positive difference, by giving Dante a true second chance. And he had saved Logan- someone whose essence became Logan - from the loss of one for whom he had cared deeply. That whirlwind of magic that had surrounded Logan after Dante’s disappearance, and the heat accompanying it, had been the lost years and potential returning to their essence.

He had saved Roman from harm, and he had helped create a more positive outcome in the past that spilled into the present. Even if the Sages decided on a death sentence, Virgil was content.

“If you are quite done coddling him, Agnes,” Cassandra barked out. “We have a punishment to decide on. As much as I would like to exclude you, we need _all_ of us to deliberate, or we will all be just as guilty of breaking our Law as this one is.” She gestured to Virgil, glaring.

Agnes patted Virgil’s shoulder. “Take heart from your deeds, dearie. I’ll be fighting for you.” She smiled, and walked back to join the group. A haze surrounded them as they all faded into incorporeal forms, become a single entity with hundreds of minds that could debate as quickly as thought.

Virgil conjured a couch from the floor of the ether and settled in to wait. There was nothing more to do, now. Whatever the Sages decided for him would be final, and he wouldn’t get to hear a word of their argument until their decision was reached.

Hope for the future and worry for the outcome were equally useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The minute I realized I’d created the chance for Dante to have an alternate timeline, I knew I had to give both my magic nerds a happy ending.  
> Anyway, just one chapter left to wrap this thing up. _Are you ready?_


	26. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Sage's judgment, Virgil's friends make some adjustments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: **Implied Character Death (not shown)** , grieving, swearing, blushing, G note (sorry)

It had been a month.

Roman had now survived an entire month without Virgil. This would be the hardest part, right? If he could make it past this month, he’d be okay. Or so he hoped.

Remy, on the other hand, was in absolute denial. When Roman, Logan, and Patton had sat him down to explain the events of that astonishing week and where his only employee was now, the lanky man had been stunned into a rare silence. He’d promptly broken that silence with a string of expletives that had made Patton gasp and attempt to cover both Logan’s and Roman’s ears at once.

But now, Remy was working every single _How You Brewin’_ shift again, refusing to hire anyone else. “I can’t give away his job, I don’t want to have to fire the new guy when Virgil comes back,” he explained each time he was asked.

Roman’s heart hurt each time he heard it. Yes, there was a _chance_ Virgil would be back. But it had been a _month_ since the Sages had taken him away in a milky white cloud of magic. A month since he’d been cut off just as he was about to say… something. Roman would never know what, exactly. He knew he needed to accept the reality that only days after declaring themselves boyfriends, he and Virgil had been separated forever. It was the only way to avoid getting hurt more.

There were just so many things he wished he could tell him, or have told him. He wanted Virgil there to celebrate when he was actually cast as The Beast. He wanted to hear the man’s snark as he started learning his lines. He wanted to have told him more just how much he liked the purple hair. He wanted to have told him more how stunning his smile was, the one that crept out when he overcame his self-consciousness, the one that was surprised out of him when Patton made a particularly bad pun. He wanted to have told him he loved him, just once, _please_.

But he couldn’t share anything with Virgil now. He hadn’t said those things, or heard them, or seen them one last time. He was just here in the back of the bakery, stress-crafting, making origami roses for the props team at the theater.

Patton and Logan had been making a concerted effort to not leave him on his own for very long. Patton had insisted Roman stay in his spare bedroom from the moment he’d appeared at their door, tears streaming down his face as he told them Virgil had been taken away by what he could only presume were the Sages.

It had started as a vigil, all three waiting for their missing friend to re-emerge. As the hours had dragged on, Roman’s pacing had increased, and the grip Patton had on Logan’s hand had gotten tighter. Around hour four, Logan had cautiously tried to suggest a movie but was denied. When they had hit hour eight, Patton had dried his eyes and insisted they all sleep. Not even Patton rolling his eyes at Logan’s half-hearted attempts to say that he could sleep on the couch as the baker had pulled him into his own bedroom had made Roman crack a smile then. He’d just felt numb.

He was able to smile now, a bit. Logan was a brilliant scientist and yet his attempts to help Roman with his origami had been so pitiful even Patton had been unable to keep from snickering. But the laughter was directed just as much at Logan’s offended expression at the delicate paper for consistently refusing to come out as he’d pictured.

After the third miserable failure, Logan conceded that this was not his type of project. So instead, he was watching Patton make a fresh batch of Jam-Packed Muffins and stealing spoonfuls of jelly when he thought the baker wasn’t looking, or at least, when the baker pretended to not be looking. It escalated as Patton accidentally smeared pomegranate jelly on his cheek and Logan insisted on kissing it off. Their flirting helped ease Roman’s heart. He wished he had that, too, but their relationship would always be a reminder of the positive impact Virgil had had on all of their lives. His shy stormcloud had put the pieces together and convinced two deserving and adorable people to get out of their own heads.

He would always be Roman’s hero.

There were many physical reminders of their collective brush with the fantastical. Two swords had a place of honor in Roman’s living room as he decided between making them a decoration or donating them to the theatre’s prop room. Logan had finally gotten a new pair of glasses, but they still matched Patton’s. And both Roman and Logan had fading purple knots on their right temples from Dante’s kidnappings. Strangely enough, Logan still hadn’t adopted Roman’s idea of calling themselves the “Badass Bruise Bros.”

Despite the occasional headaches from said bruises, it was non-physical reminders that ached the most. Walking into the bakafé to see only an exhausted Remy, soldiering his way through the morning rush without any help. Hearing songs from _Steven Universe_. Opening his texts and seeing his exchanges with Virgil sinking lower and lower as no new messages came. Even hearing his cast talk about how excited they were for him to be the lead. His Belle, a lovely girl named Valerie, had teased him about having to cover his face for the whole show only to reveal it at the end and it had been all Roman could do to not cry right then and there.

But he’d survived a month. It could only get easier from here on. That thought kept him moving, kept him from breaking down. His hands methodically continued to fold the fragile red origami paper, creating tight creases and folds. The stack of finished flowers continued to fill the basket he’d brought from the theatre. This, he could do. He was Prince Adam, after all. His curse was just reversed. Every passing day brought him further from the heartache, and he could and would brave his way through the pain. The petals were falling up.

His mind clung desperately to this thought as he focused on his mechanical actions of fold, crease, fold, crease. He barely noticed the sounds of the bakery around him, only dimly noting the chatter of customers and the gentle ringing of the doorbell. His mind was a locomotive, chugging down unchanging tracks, not deviating for a moment, when suddenly a familiar voice said, “Princey?” and the rails disappeared entirely, his automation disrupted into a sudden flaming wreck.

Roman stood slowly, almost paralyzed with shock. He was dreaming. He must be dreaming. His heart was hoping so hard that he was hallucinating. Right?

He walked slowly, sleepwalking in daylight, towards the figure in the doorway. It _looked_ like him. Same purple hair, same gorgeous eyes. Same tentative smile that currently betrayed nervousness and guilt as well as relief.

He reached out a shaky hand to touch the figure’s face, convinced it was a mirage about to disappear the moment he made contact. But his fingers found only smooth skin, warming as the other man flushed at the contact. No one would fake that blush so well. It was him.

Virgil was back.

Roman crashed into him with his embrace, knocking him into the wall near the door as tears of relief leaked out of his eyes.

“You absolute emo nightmare, don’t you _ever_ vanish on me again,” he said into Virgil’s shoulder as his boyfriend hugged him back, rubbing small, comforting circles on his lower back.

“I’m sorry it took so long, Ro. I told you, Sages have a _really_ bad sense of time. But I promise,” Virgil murmured, holding Roman so that he could meet his eyes,  “I won’t ever disappear again.”

Logan was somewhere behind them, keeping onlookers and also Remy from interfering. “No, Rem, give them a moment. I know you’ve missed him too-”

“Lo, hun, you don’t understand, both Gilda and Cyril have been _distraught_ , the espresso has never tasted so much like sadness since that time Pat tried to mix coffee grounds _with_ loose-leaf tea _with hot chocolate_ …”

“Remy, you and your machines will be fine. He’ll be back tomorrow. Let them have today.”

Roman and Virgil noticed none of the conversation behind them. They were clinging to each other, holding so tightly they were almost hurting each other, close to bruising each others’ ribs. But neither could bear the thought of letting go. Virgil kissed Roman’s forehead and his nose and his cheek before snuggling his head into the crook of the other man’s neck. Roman just clung, silent tears running down his cheeks with relief.

When he was finally able to speak, Roman whispered, “I thought I’d lost you forever, my dark and stormy knight. I missed you so much, but I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I know, my prince. I’m so sorry it took so long. But there was no way I was letting those old bags keep me away from you. Not when I finally made sure you were safe.”

Roman responded with a watery smile. “We should probably go somewhere. We’re distracting the whole bakafé.”

Virgil looked up finally, blushing as he realized there were at least eight customers trying to inconspicuously watch the drama unfolding before them. Not to mention Logan, Patton, and Remy, the last trying not at all to be subtle. Virgil made brief eye contact with his beaming boss and gave a small two-finger salute before grabbing Roman’s hand and pulling him out the door into the street.

Roman slinked his arm around his boyfriend’s hips, trying to stay as much in contact as possible while still being able to walk. “So,” he started finally. “Were they… mad?”

Virgil looked off into the distance. “Some of them, yeah. A lot of them were just confused - none of us knew I could do what I did. And I may have, uh, yelled at them all.”

“Ugh, you really are a punk’s dream. Yelling at the Man when the Man is a huge group of omniscient people that are _literally_ immortal.”

Virgil chuckled and hugged his boyfriend with the arm wrapped around his waist. “What can I say. I just gotta be me.”

“I know. That’s why I love you,” Roman said, before stopping short as he realized what he’d said.  Virgil looked at him, wide-eyed, as the actor’s stupid mouth blabbered on. “Oh _fuck_ I can’t believe I just said that so casually, I’m sorry if it’s too soon, but I do, I really do, I’d been daydreaming about having this whole beautiful moment where I told you and it was going to be dramatic and lovely and I _ruined_ it…”

Virgil cut him off by turning and kissing him softly on the mouth, his lips closed but with a level of heat that promised much, much more. “I love you too, you dork,” he said slightly breathlessly as he broke off.

“Oh, good,” Roman responded weakly. His traitorous knees were trembling.

Virgil grinned. He loved that he was somehow able to make this confident, brash man act as awkward as he felt. “Want to sit? There’s a great bubble tea place on this block.”

Roman nodded, trying to stop blushing. The tea shop had a fun color scheme and was blissfully quiet. They sat in a booth near the back,  holding hands over the table as they sipped their tea. Roman caught Virgil staring at his lips as he sucked tapioca balls through his straw and waggled his eyebrows, causing the other man to blush and look down as he grinned.

“You have a dirty mind, Dr. Doom & Gloom,” he said, mock-offended.

“Yours is just as bad, Sir Sings-A-Lot,” Virgil shot back, smirking.

Roman grinned. This was what he’d missed. It was just so comfortable, so easy, and every time he saw Virgil’s smile he felt a warm bubble in his chest. It was so easy to forget how he’d been in mourning only hours before.

“Virge… what happened, with the Sages? Besides you punking out, of course. Can you tell me?”

Virgil face instantly fell to somber. “Yeah, you deserve to know. It wasn’t… great. They made me actually feel the passage of time while they deliberated, just _sitting there_ for an entire month, which was all pettiness, honestly.

“I also didn’t get the answer I wanted, where they acknowledged the shortcomings of the Sages’ Law and agreed to update it. Convincing immortal beings to change their ways or even admit that a change might be needed isn’t easy. But I did find out that we’re connected, you and I. And Pat, and Lo, even Remy. I’ve… met you all before, in a way.”

Roman’s eyebrows had entirely disappeared into his styled bangs. “Heckity heck, five abs and one peck! How? When? Why don’t _we_ remember?”

“It’s reincarnation, though not quite like the versions that human faiths have identified. The same essence, or soul, or whatever you want to call it, it goes through a cycle of life and death and gets reborn into new bodies in new places with a slightly different personality. It’s the same as what I’ve done for thousands of years. I’m just one of the few who remembers my past lives. But in remembering, I realized that I’ve met all of you except Logan before, and he knew Dante in a past life. It explains why I always felt the urge to call you Prince - you _were_ a prince, once.”

“Was I a dashing, dazzling prince? Did I slay dragons?”

Virgil winced. “I… I will tell you that story. But another time, please? It’s a bit of a downer, unfortunately, and I just want to enjoy this time with you now that I can.”

Roman’s curiosity was burning, but Virgil was right. They had all the time in the world now that he was _back_.

“So was it your Raging Against the Machine that convinced them to send you off with no punishment? Did you make them Panic! in the Ether?”

“Ah, about that. They did punish me, actually. I’m… on a leash, for the rest of my days.”

“Um. Is this a magic kink thing, I don’t want to shame you but I don’t know if I’m into that…”

“Oh my god, and you said _I_ had a dirty mind? No, I mean, I’m here, I’m still in the world, but I’m not entirely off the hook. I was hoping they’d just, you know, make me mortal. No more magic, or reincarnation, I’d just get to live like a regular human for the rest of this life. I could be just… Virgil. But, well. Some of the elders hold grudges. Not a great trait in beings that can neither forget nor die. I am still connected to the ether, but have to act human, or else.”

“I’m confused,” Roman said. “ _Act_ human? Or else what?”

“The thinking seemed to be that I abused my powers and said I didn’t want them, so now I have to prove it. As long as I don’t foretell, or change any objects, or send anyone to make a different choice, I get to just keeping living as I have. Slightly magic, yeah, I won’t physically need to eat or sleep still, but mostly human. Mostly mundane. But the minute I use any of my powers, even accidentally, the Sages will reclaim me back into the ether, this time for good. If I make it to the end of this lifetime on Earth naturally without having even tickled the ether, they’ll let me choose: become a full human, or stay an incorporeal Sage with the rest of them.”

Roman was stunned. “But that would mean… even accidentally, really? Like when you ran into the sorcerer? They’d just… take you away?”

“Yes, unfortunately. I’m going to have to start wearing gloves or something. No more hands-to-hands contact. But uh. Since I’ve already seen your future, you don’t count. I can still hold your hands, you just can’t ever invoke your destiny again.”

“Will it be hard, to avoid having it happen to other people?”

“Hopefully not. I’m not exactly the most touchy-feely guy on the planet, it shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ll just need to be careful.” He reached up a palm to brush his boyfriend’s face. “I don’t want to risk being separated from you again.”

Roman blushed happily. “I’m glad. Losing you wasn’t great.” Suddenly he had a thought. “Hey, wait. We survived the evil plots and you’ve come back from Highway to the Judgement Zone. It’s about time for our second date, isn’t it?”

“Is this not it?”

“We are not starting out our second date with us making a scene in the middle of the bakery,” Roman said, a hand splayed in artful shock against his chest. “We are officially on our date, starting now! I’m taking you to the music store. We’re bringing you into the twenty-first century, Dreamland-Before-Time.”

* * *

Roman was fairly certain his feet hadn’t touched the ground once on the walk over. Being able to stroll down the street, holding hands with the man he’d resigned himself to have lost forever? You couldn’t blame a ~~gay~~  guy for walking on air.

Now they browsed through the music store, Roman dragging Virgil away from the classical section. “I’m sure you know it all, the point is to get you _out_ of the past”

“But these are such new versions! I bet they’re loads better than the original live versions.”

Roman stopped. “You did _not_ see the original performance of Mozart’s Fifth. You did _not_. I will absolutely _flip_ my _lid_.”

Virgil shrugged noncommittally. “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, Princey.”

Roman goggled, choked sounds of jealousy emerging from his throat before Virgil smirked. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. I wasn’t anywhere near Austria then. I think I was in the Andes, actually.”

With an eyeroll, Roman marched over to the jukebox in the back of the store with its multiple headphones dangling on hooks. He waved his boyfriend over. “Here. I’m going to introduce you to music from _this_ century.”

Roman flipped through songs until one caught his eye. He grinned deviously as he turned Virgil away from the screen, making sure the headphones were secure on his violet head.

“Roman, what are you doing?”

“Trust me, prince of the night. You need to hear this one”

Roman hit play, and watched Virgil immediately stiffen at the lone piano that began the song.

_Ah, the sustained G note._

Roman turned away to browse further, until he thought to look back. Was Virgil _crying?_

“' _We’ll carry on,’_ Roman! What is this beautiful thing and whose voice is this. I love it, and I need to hear everything this voice has ever said or sung.”

“One thing at a time, Stormcloud. We’ll get you your black military jacket tomorrow. Look for different artists on that thing, find some new stuff!”

Virgil hesitated, but acquiesced. He didn’t have all the time in the world anymore, but he had all the time in a life, and that lifetime would be with Roman. That would be enough.

He flipped through album art, scanning song lyrics and listening to snippets here and there. One song caught his eye, and the muted colors of the album’s stars and planets drew him to listen. Barely thirty seconds had passed before he waved Roman over, his throat tight with emotion.

The auburn-haired man came over, worried. Before he could open his mouth, Virgil had plunked another pair of headphones on his head and put a finger to his lips. _Listen._

 

> _I never could imagine_  
>  _How my life would change the day you came_  
>  _That all my fears and worries would just wash away  
>  _ _I never saw it coming, then one day all of a sudden  
>  _ _There was you_

Roman met Virgil’s eyes with his own. He saw a question there as he listened to the gentle acoustic guitar in his ears. Virgil had found a song that spoke the words of his eternal yet very human heart. His future existence had been upended, and yet he still looked forward, eager for the new choices he could make, both large and small. Did Roman feel the same? After everything they’d survived, after everything Virgil felt he’d inflicted on all their friends - could Roman imagine the same future he did?

The intensity in Virgil’s eyes was almost too much to bear. Roman flushed and looked down. Then, he looped an arm around the other’s waist, and brought up his hand to gently clasp the back of his neck, nestling his fingers in purple locks. Their eyes locked, and closed, and Roman hoped Virgil’s question was thoroughly answered as he leaned in to kiss him slowly and sweetly.

 

> _I never saw it coming, then one day all of a sudden_ _  
> _ _There was you, you, you, you_ _  
> _ _I don't have to live without you anymore_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: My Chemical Romance - “Welcome to the Black Parade” and A Great Big World - “You”  
> If you’re here, thank you, you specifically, so much for reading. This story is my first return to fanfiction since middle school and my first creative writing project in about as long. Thank you for leaving kudos and likes, thank you for reblogging, and thankyouthankyouthankyou for commenting <3 It gave me so much motivation to keep going on this long, weird ride.  
> You’re all the best. Take it easy, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals <3  
> (P.S. stay tuned for a new work-in-progress with less magic and more angst :] )


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